


Lily's Garden

by hereThereBeDraugr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, BAMF Harry Potter, Eventual Romance, Families of Choice, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Master of Death Harry Potter, Mostly Canon Compliant, Multi, Mystery, POV Multiple, POV Tom Riddle, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Young Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2020-03-05 07:37:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18824134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereThereBeDraugr/pseuds/hereThereBeDraugr
Summary: Thirteen year old Tom Riddle finds unexpected sanctuary in a small cafe near Diagon Alley.





	1. Opportunity, Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time ever posting a fic. Please be kind.
> 
> I love coffee shop AUs, but there aren't many in Harry Potter, so I decided to write one I would have liked to read. This fic was inspired by the idea that Tom Riddle was probably permanently hangry as a child (due to WW2 and growing up in an orphanage) and maybe he wouldn't have ended up all that bad if he'd had a decent meal or two in his youth. 
> 
> [Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the work of JK Rowling. This is just a bit of fun. Death, and Albert inspired by the amazing Terry Pratchett's characters of the same names.
> 
> note: I have no beta. All mistakes are my own. Please enjoy anyway.]

**Summer, 1940**

The worn cotton of his shirt clung, sweat soaked, to his sticky skin as Tom made his way down the sun-drenched street. Beautiful as the weather was, it was muffled by a cloud of fear and desperation.

Tom found the atmosphere stifling, and now, more than ever, he wished himself away from muggle London. The situation with the muggle war had escalated, and it reeked too much of death for his liking. He could no longer bear feeling as he did at the orphanage; trapped, and as though at any minute the world around him would dissolve under fire, taking him with it.

He rushed across the street, barely sparing a glance at the people around him, and made a run for the Leaky Cauldron. He’d managed to sneak out, avoiding his loathsome chores, and planned to spend as much time as he could in Diagon Alley.

The atmosphere inside the pub was a jarring contrast to the muggle world outside. The Leaky Cauldron was as full and merry as any other summer’s day, with people enjoying a bite of lunch and light drinks while conversing with one another. Tom inwardly relaxed and felt some of the tension melt from his shoulders. Not wanting to linger, he quickly made his way into Diagon Alley proper.

Tom walked, half in a daze, content to wander for a bit while his thoughts settled – that is, until he caught sight of a familiar figure in the corner of his eye. A tall, middle-aged wizard with silver-streaked auburn hair approached, striding with confidence down the Alley. Tom felt himself tensing up again. Dumbledore. The annoying fool was conversing intently with someone as he walked, and so hadn’t yet seen Tom. But he soon would. Tom froze to the spot as he glanced quickly around for a means of avoiding the man. Then he spotted it: a small cafe, half hidden just inside the entrance to Rift Alley; a small wooden sign above the door declaring ‘Lily’s Garden’. Perfect. Rift Alley was long and narrow, and littered with insignificant shops and tiny apartments. He dashed across the Alley and darted inside the small shop, so eager to make a clean getaway that he was startled when he felt himself slam into something. He stumbled and grabbed onto a nearby table to stop himself falling over but couldn’t contain a pained hiss at the sting of hot liquid across his chest. Tom looked down at himself in horror; he was drenched in tea. This was anything but a  _clean_ getaway.

“Oh, Merlin! I’m so sorry!” said a voice.

A woman was getting up awkwardly from the floor in front of him. She had long, rich red hair which flowed down to her waist.

“Are you alright, dear? That tea was quite hot. Merlin, tell me I didn’t burn you!”

“I’m quite alright, thank you for your concern,” he said, examining the damage to his person. “Though, I wouldn’t mind a cleaning charm? I’d do it myself, but I do still have the Trace, after all.”

“Yes, of course! Good idea! And a pot of tea, and pastry, on the house.”

“Thank you,” Tom said, a small, charming smile already in place on his features. The woman waved her wand, thankfully vanishing not only the tea, but also the uncomfortable layer of sweat and dust that had accumulated. The coolness of a mild healing charm followed. Feeling refreshed, Tom took the opportunity to look around the shop as the woman turned to clean the mess from the floor.

Double height stone walls combined with large French windows leading out to a plant-filled courtyard allowed the moderately sized room to seem larger than it was. The plant life extended inside in the form of numerous potted flowers, which gave a pleasant green tinge to the grey stone interior. A few small tables clustered around the space, and a comfortable pair of armchairs sat close to a small fireplace. Worn rugs and tall bookcases dotted the room, and a wooden piano stood at one wall, quietly playing itself. A small door directly across the entrance led to what presumably would be the kitchen. What looked to be a private study on the upper level overlooked the space on the left-hand side, a wooden banister along the top of the wall the only thing separating it from the cafe’s seating area. That area was dark and partially shielded from view, but Tom could just about make out the tops of a few more bookcases from where he was standing. Overall, it was a surprisingly pleasant space.

“I suppose I should say, ‘welcome to Lily's Garden’. I’m Lily.” The woman gave a bright smile.

“Tom Riddle,” he said, returning her smile with one of his best. “Forgive me, but should you not be Rose, instead of a Lily?”

Lily gave a startled snort of laughter, and with a strangely knowing look in her eye, said, “Already the charmer, I see.”

Well, that was somewhat… unexpected. At close to fourteen, he was already well aware of the kind of effect he had on women. Perhaps this woman was just a bit wilier than most. He would need to bear it in mind.

“Please, have a seat. I’ll bring your tea out as soon as I’ve replaced Mrs. Murphy’s order.”

Tom took one of the empty tables facing the courtyard. There were only two other customers in the shop. An elderly woman relaxed in one of the armchairs, facing him, but seemingly intent on her knitting. Mrs Murphy, he assumed. She looked up for a moment and glanced at him over her spectacles.

“You alright there, dear?”

“Fine, thank you, ma’am.”

She resumed her knitting.

The other person in the shop was an olive-skinned young girl with frizzy dark brown hair. She was sat in the far corner, her back to a large bookshelf, and had her entire face buried in her book, totally oblivious to everything around her. Curious, he made his way over to the bookshelves.

As he passed the girl he paused, caught by a sudden intuition. It was the girl’s magic. Something about the nature of her magic was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Curious, but not wanting to rudely enquire, he focused on the bookshelf.

“Feel free to read anything you like off there, while you’re here,” said Lily, coming back into the room with a new pot of tea for Mrs Murphy. She set it down on a small table by the armchair. “Be out in a minute with your tea.” Tom nodded.

There were quite a few unusual titles on the shelves, and even a few in different languages. He pulled out  _Denglong to Dragons: Magical Predators of Southeast Asia_ and settled down to read. If he was going to wait things out, this was as good a place as any.

 

*****

 

Tom managed to spend the entire day in Lily’s Garden, reading and drinking tea. Lily had come by a few times to refill his pot and place a few more pastries in front of him. Surprisingly, she hadn’t pressured him to buy anything or leave - but then maybe she felt guilty over spilling hot tea over him. Tom wasn’t going to complain though; with the war, the already small rations at Wool’s had gotten sparser and more disgusting. A day spent filling up on good tea and pastry while reading interesting books was like heaven.

Over the following few days, Tom returned to the cafe, and in between reading, observed the other patrons coming and going. The brown-haired girl with the familiar magic was there every day, hardly moving from her position in the corner. The only time she’d stirred was when Tom very gently probed her magic with his own, trying to detect what was familiar about it. She had looked up then, though seeming still in a book-daze, and he’d quickly retreated his magic. He’d been a bit more cautious since then.

Tom initially noted the cafe’s other employee with interest; the young man had several piercings dotting his ears, and two magical tattoos slithered about either of his bronze forearms; a snake, and a strange dragon. He had never seen anything quite like it. However, his interest dimmed when he realised the man was a squib. He had encountered plenty of people with weak or mediocre magical cores (in fact, the world was shockingly infested with them), but this was the first squib he had come across - the man was totally devoid of magic. Tom felt a brief flare of disgusted pity for the man and wondered why Lily bothered to hire him - he’d noted that she was quite powerful herself. But, he supposed, the man was friendly enough, and his appealing facial structure (unusual piercings aside) probably helped draw in a few customers.

By the end of his third day out, his good fortune came to an end. He was sneaking back into the orphanage through an open window when Mr Joneson, the caretaker caught him.

“Riddle! Where’d you think yeh’ve been?”

Tom bit back a retort; it would not serve him to anger the man.

“Never mind,” the oaf continued. “We’re teh see missus Cole. Now.” And he seized Tom by the arm and dragged him to the office.

Mrs Cole, when they arrived, gave him a cold, hard look.

“Mr Riddle,” she said, as the door was slammed shut behind him. “You’ve been sneaking out.”

“Mrs Cole, I have been working on a school project that is to be completed over the summer holidays,” he began, the lie falling effortlessly from his tongue. “I’ve had to meet some of my fellow students and teachers in person to complete it.”

“Not good enough.” She wrinkled her lips together. “I’ve had no letter from your teachers, Riddle. And it’s no excuse to sneak off when there’s work to be done. You think going to some posh school, you’re too good for chores now, aye? You’ll be scrubbing all the bathrooms to make up for this, in addition to all the chores you’ve missed.”

Hot anger flared through him. Behind Mrs Cole, the window shutters began to rattle. Tom clenched his jaw and tried to tame his power. As much as he’d relish smashing the woman against the ceiling, the memory of Dumbledore was fresh in his mind. It would not do to get himself expelled from Hogwarts.

“Yes, Mrs Cole. I do apologise,” he somehow managed to grit out.

Mrs Cole smirked.

“Oh, and before I forget, war means more wards for the orphanage. You’ll be getting two new roommates tomorrow, Riddle. You’ve had your own room long enough; this is an orphanage, not a hotel. I suggest you prepare yourself.”

Tom seethed. Not daring to speak, he turned on his heel and left.

 

*****

 

As much as the previous three days were good, the following three were a nightmare. There were people invading his space. Two annoying little runts. They were scared of him, as all the other children were, but Mrs Cole, the matrons, and Mr Joneson were keeping an alarmingly close eye on him. He could not deal with it. He’d been on edge the entire time, all his strength going into preventing his magic from blowing the lot of them to bits. And then there were the chores. There was dirt constantly under his nails from working the vegetable patch, and the skin on his hands was permanently wrinkled and burning from the harsh laundry soap. He was going to go mad.

Late afternoon on the third day, he finally managed to sneak away again. He’d already finished his chores for the day, so the old harpy could hardly complain. He took the bus to the Leaky Cauldron, and from there ran to Lily’s Garden. Too late.

Tom stood in front of the closed door, trying very hard not to scream. The Alleys were quieting around him, shops closing as the light dwindled. A few of the pubs and restaurants were still open, but apparently cafes saw no point staying open after 8 pm on a Wednesday night.

“Can I help you?”

Tom whirled around, only to come face to face with Lily’s assistant. The squib.

“You look like you could use a cuppa. Come inside.” He moved to open the door. Apparently, squibs did have their uses.

Tom stepped inside. The small shop seemed even more cosy, empty and quiet, bathed in soft light from the candles and crackling fire. He moved to sit in one of the armchairs near the fire, sinking with a sigh into its depths, and letting his eyes flutter closed. Idly, he noted that the fire gave off no warmth, just its calm, flickering light. Quite a handy charm, he thought. Tiredly, he mused if Lily would mind if he just decided to pack his things at the orphanage and move in.

He was startled from his thoughts by the sound of a tray being set down on the coffee table. His eyes snapped open; he hadn’t even heard the assistant come back in. In front of him was a steaming pot of tea - it had a delicate, sweet aroma - and a plate of sandwiches. Tom’s stomach growled treacherously.

The assistant smirked at him.

“Chamomile tea,” he said. “Good for calming down. Please, dig in.”

Tom didn’t need telling twice. He took a sandwich and bit in, only just holding back a groan. It was so good. Shredded chicken (Chicken! When last had he had chicken?), a salty white cheese, and some peppery green leaves all between toasted slices of bread. Had the squib made this? Perhaps they weren’t entirely useless after all. Granted, he’d never eaten anything that tasted this good that was made by someone without magic before.

“Hadrian Evans,” the man said, giving an awkward half wave.

“I know, I remember.” Tom was very good with names - well, with remembering things in general. “I’m Tom Riddle.”

Evans smirked. “Yeah, I remember too.”

“Won’t Lily mind? Her assistant giving out free food after hours, I mean.”

“Who said it’s free?” Evans chuckled at the look Tom gave him. “Just kidding. I wouldn’t worry; she’s a very generous woman. And even if she did have a problem with it, there’s not much she could do anyways. My shop, my rules.”

Tom’s jaw dropped.

“Your-?”

Evans laughed again.

“Yeah,” he grinned. “You should see your face, by the way.” Tom snapped his jaw shut and put his neutral mask back in place. Internally, he scowled.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Tom focusing on his sandwiches, and Evans seeming intent on his own thoughts.

“Say, you’ll be about third year at Hogwarts, right?”

“Fourth, starting September.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know any older students who’d be wanting a summer job, would you?”

Tom’s thoughts raced. Was the cafe looking for extra staff? He could do it. He was only thirteen, but he was already more competent than most of the N.E.W.T level students. Then he paused. Mrs Cole would never let him out of the orphanage for days on end. And another thing - did he really want to risk some of his classmates seeing him, working at a side-alley cafe? Granted, it was unlikely any of the pureblood Slytherins would come to Rift Alley, of all places. And money would be good. Then there were _all the books_. Not to mention he’d be working in a place as cosy as this. Though he would be working for a  _squib_. Tom glanced down at what remained of the sandwiches. Well, a squib who could cook. He took a breath.

“I could do it.”

Evans opened his mouth, clearly about to protest, but Tom continued.

“I know, I’m young. But I can manage. I’m not lazy, and I learn fast. There is something though. My, er, guardian. She will likely only let me away from the… house, if I have a legitimate excuse. But if I tell her I’ve gotten a part time job, she’ll likely take all my earnings.”

Evans was silent for a moment.

“You live in muggle London, right?”

“How’d-?”

“I’ve spotted you taking the exit at the Leaky.”

“Oh.”

“Your guardian is a muggle, I’m assuming. I’m guessing she wouldn’t know the exchange rate then. Tell you what, I’ll draft a letter to your guardian. I’ll tell her I’ll be paying you twelve pence a week. Even if she takes all of that, it shouldn’t make much of a difference if you’re earning three sickles a week from me. How does that sound?”

Tom looked at him suspiciously. Surely this was too good to be true. The squib would probably come in time to collect his dues. Yet just the thought of spending the entire summer under Mrs Cole’s thumb, subsisting on stale bread and runny porridge while the muggle world bombed itself to bits around him had his reservations flying out the window. Whatever the squib wanted, it was unlikely to be  _that_ bad. And, if things went well, he’d have a nice sum saved up and a place to return to - at least, during the day - next summer as well.

“Alright. I think we have a deal.”

 

*****

 

Tom returned to the orphanage that evening, belly full and letter in his pocket. He was not surprised in the least when he was summoned immediately to Mrs Cole; he hadn’t bothered to hide his return.

He stepped calmly into her office, and spoke before she could get even a word in.

“Mrs Cole. It’s no secret that you and I are not fond of one another. But I’m here to make you a deal. I’ve found myself a job. If you excuse me from my daily chores, you’ll get the benefit of only having to put me up for the night. You won’t have to feed me during the day, and I’ll give you half my earnings. Here.”

He handed over the letter.

Silent for once, she scanned the contents with an unreadable expression.

“This Mr - what was it - Hadrian Evans, will be giving you twelve pence a week? I think it only fair I take eight.”

Tom made as if to protest but was interrupted by Mrs Cole.

“There’ll be none of that, Riddle. Take my terms or leave them.”

Tom plastered a suitable frown on his face, muttered, “Fine”, and stormed out.

Triumphant.


	2. Terror, Tea, and Teddy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the kudos and lovely comments! 
> 
> This chapter is not very long but the following one is a monster that I will probably have to split into two.
> 
> [Note: no beta, so please forgive any errors]

Tom took the first available bus out the next morning. He hadn’t felt this eager about anything in a while. A small satchel was slung over his shoulder, which he had charmed with an undetectable extension charm, and cursed so that it could only be opened by him. It contained most of his personal possessions - everything important, at least. Knowing he would be away for most of the day, he thought it best to keep it near him at all times. He was sure that Lily and Mr Evans probably wouldn’t mind him working on his assignments during his breaks.

It was so early when he got to Rift Alley that the cafe was, unsurprisingly, closed. He glanced through the window, wondering if anyone was up yet and whether he should knock. A cat jumped up to the windowsill on the inside and stared blankly at him. Tom didn’t mind cats; they were not as good as snakes, but acceptable enough.

“Hello,” Tom said, having learned early on that magical pets often understood far more than muggle ones. “Mind letting your master know I’m outside?”

The cat blinked, then slunk away. Tom waited a few minutes, but when the door eventually opened, it was not by Lily, or even Mr Evans, as he had expected.

A tall, frighteningly beautiful woman, with smooth, mahogany skin and depthless black eyes stood in front of him, silent as the grave, swathed in simple, wispy white robes. Tom fought an entirely irrational urge to run in the opposite direction.

Smoothing his face over as best he could, he managed to croak out, “Tom Riddle, ma’am.”

She didn’t seem to be paying him any attention. Her gaze was unfocused, head cocked slightly to the side, as though listening to something.

“Morticia!” a voice called from within the cafe. Lily stepped into the seating area.

“Oh,” she said, noticing Tom. “Morning! Come inside, why don’t you.” She then turned to the strangely unresponsive woman.

“Were you planning on sneaking away without saying goodbye, Tish?”

Morticia gave a half shrug. Lily sighed.  

“Well, good luck, and remember to pop ‘round if you get any break from your work. I’m sure Harry will let you know if he needs you.”

The woman didn’t answer, just stepped past Tom and seemed to melt into the night.

Tom suppressed a shiver. Unfortunately, Lily noticed.

“Cold, dear?” she said, with a knowing look. “Come inside. Harry told me you’d be coming ’round. Have you had breakfast yet? You can join me in the kitchen, and I’ll explain your duties and the rules over tea.”

Tom followed her into the kitchen. It was a spacious room, and warm from the gently burning stove. There was a wooden eating table at the back, surrounded by six chairs.

As Tom sat down, he idly wondered exactly how many people lived here. From the familiarity with which they spoke and the fact that Lily seemed to live at the café, he assumed that she and Hadrian were married. Was Morticia another employee then, or simply a guest?

“Harry will be down any minute,” Lily said, interrupting his thoughts, busying herself with pots and pans. “I’m assuming you’ll be helping out here until the end of August? It’s our busiest time. You’ll be mainly helping with waiting tables, but you could probably assist me with stock taking as well. Cleaning too.”

A delicious smell began to waft his way while she spoke.

“For today, you’ll mostly be following me around, getting familiar with how the place runs. I’ll then start delegating certain tasks. You seem the responsible type, but I’ll still be checking up on you, of course. I’m warning you now, I won’t tolerate any hostility towards customers. If anyone is giving you problems, you let me know. The staff take breaks in shifts: you can expect one thirty-minute break at eleven and another at three pm. It’s not easy working in a cafe - expect to be put through your paces. Any questions so far?”

“Will I be able to work on my school assignments during my breaks? It’s just, I live in muggle London, and it’s hard to find a place to work where I live.”

Lily smiled warmly.

“Of course, dear. You’re welcome to stay after your shift and work too. I was quite good at charms and potions when I studied; I wouldn’t mind lending you a hand, if you need it.”

Tom doubted very much that he would need it. But it was always good to keep doors open.

“Thank you. I’ll keep your offer in mind.”

“So formal. Are you maybe an old man, in disguise?” Lily grinned. Tom would have objected to that description, but Lily chose that moment to slide a heaping plate of eggs, tomato, mushrooms, and toast in front of him. His mouth watered.

“Dig in, old man.”

He was halfway through his breakfast when Mr Evans came through a door leading in from the courtyard, carrying a small child.

“Morning,” he said.

“Oh, why is Teddy up?” Lily asked, frowning. The boy, Teddy, still clad in his pyjamas, buried his head of jet-black hair further into Evans’ neck.

“Nightmare. I’ll put him back to bed once he’s had a warm glass of milk and some toast.”

“Oh, baby,” Lily cooed, reaching out for him. Teddy wriggled in Evans’ grip, mumbled something, and then leaned into Lily’s arms. As he did so, his hair turned from black to deep red, and grew almost down to his tiny waist. Tom gasped. A metamorphmagus! The ability was incredibly rare!

Mr Evans laughed, seeing his face.

“Our Teddy is quite special.”

“You look too young to be his father.” Tom frowned.

“I’m his godfather. His father was a good friend of ours.”

Lily set Teddy down in the chair next to Tom and placed a plate of toast and a glass of warm milk in front of him. The boy looked to be about four or five. If he lived with his godparents, it probably meant he was an orphan, just like Tom.

“Hello,” said Tom.

Teddy turned a pair of luminous, emerald green eyes on him, which then promptly turned his own shade of stormy grey. His red hair shortened and became thick, chocolate brown curls, until Tom was looking at a miniature version of himself. It was fascinating.

“Hello,” the boy said. “Who are you?”

“I’m Tom. I’ll be working here from today”

“I’m Teddy.” He took a sip from his glass but didn’t say anything more until he had finished his milk and toast.

“Harry, can I go back to bed?”

Mr Evans had just sat down to eat, so Lily stepped in. “I’ll take you, love.” She held out a hand, which he took and hopped down from his chair.

“How about a story to help you drift off, hm?” Tom heard her say as they walked out the back door into the courtyard, hand in hand.

A strange feeling ached in him as he watched them go. He wondered, briefly, what his life would have been like if he had had someone to give him warm milk and hold his hand after a nightmare at that age. He squashed the thoughts down. It didn’t matter; he was fine on his own, stronger for it, even. He didn’t need anybody.

Abruptly, he realised that Mr Evans was looking at him intently. He smoothed his mask quickly into place, hoping that none of his thoughts had shown themselves. He didn’t need anyone’s pity, let alone a worthless squib’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably going to be a long fic. I have the next two and a half chapters already written, and plot mostly worked out, but updates will slow down a bit in the near future.
> 
> Thank you again for all your support. Hope you continue to enjoy.  
> Your comments are appreciated :D


	3. Potters and Potioneers (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone's encouragement and kudos <3
> 
> When I started this fic, I wanted to make sure that Tom developed meaningful friendships and relationships outside of Harry/Tom. Right now, Tom has no one, and is leading a pretty much miserable existence (no wonder he’s such an ass. Poor bean). This will be a slow burn story, so there will be quite a bit of interaction with other characters in the meantime.  
> Also, for those of you unfamiliar with the works of the great Terry Pratchett, you can read a bit about Alberto Malich here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_(Discworld)#Albert 
> 
> The characters of Death and Albert are just inspired by the Discworld versions, and are not entirely in character, so there’s no harm done if you don’t know anything about them. I thought I’d just put the link down for interest’s sake, for anyone curious.

Albus Dumbledore was not often overwhelmed. Yet that was the only word he could think of to describe how he felt at that moment. With Gellert causing chaos in the background of a colossal muggle war, and Minister Spencer-Moon and his counterparts from European ministries breathing down his neck to assist in bringing the Dark Lord in, it was no wonder he felt like he was being tugged in a multitude of directions.

It didn’t help that Galatea had brought up retirement, and now Armando was insisting that as deputy headmaster he had to find a list of suitable replacements. And then there were the Hallows; yet another worry. Gellert already had the wand, there was nothing to be done about that - for now. The most he could do was find and protect the others before they fell into the wrong hands. His greatest temptation – the stone – he had no hopes to find any time soon, but he had stumbled across a lead on the cloak. The only problem: the one person who could give him answers on that front was currently on the Indian subcontinent, for an indeterminate amount of time. Albus sighed.

He would just have to do his best, while he could.

Diagon Alley was getting busier as the summer holidays wore on. It was a lovely morning, so the crowds were quite thick. Luckily, he still had some time to get to his appointment: a meeting with a potential replacement for Galatea. He was passing the apothecary when someone caught his attention. Was that -? Yes, a stroke of luck! Isabelle Potter, in the company of her uncle. He began making his way through the crowds, going as fast as he politely could.

“Fleamont!” he spotted the boy, not too far in front of him, but Fleamont Potter did not stop.

“Mr Potter!” the boy froze, just as Albus reached him and grabbed him by the arm.

“Professor Dumbledore?” a familiar voice said, from behind him.

Albus turned around, still holding onto the boy’s arm.

“Fleamont?”

Fleamont Potter in front of him, and Fleamont Potter behind him! Was he finally losing his mind?

“Professor Dumbledore,” said Isabelle Potter, coming up behind her brother, their uncle, Charlus, not two steps behind. Her eyes widened when she took in the boy Albus was holding onto. He looked back at the boy, who was near enough identical to Fleamont; he could pass off as his twin! But - no. The eyes were different - startling green to Fleamont’s brown - and there were slight differences in the nose and jaw too.

“Forgive me,” Albus said. The boy looked quite surprised. “It seems you’ve brought one of your cousins back with you, Mr and Miss Potter. Would you introduce us?”

Isabelle and Fleamont shared a confused look; Charlus was looking intently at the boy, a worried frown on his face.

“No, Professor, we don’t know this boy,” said Isabelle. She looked him curiously up and down. “But I can see why you thought so; he’s the spitting image of Flea.”

Albus looked at the boy again; he seemed lost for words. Just then, Albus realised he could not feel any magic from the boy, despite holding onto his arm. He took in Charlus’ worried face, then the boy and Fleamont. The blood drained from his face. A squib, perhaps born out of wedlock and discarded? Godric, what had he just done!

He cleared his throat and quickly let go of the boy.

“My apologies, young man. Albus Dumbledore, deputy headmaster at Hogwarts.” He extended his hand. The boy hesitated for a moment, then took it and shook with a firm grip.

“Hadrian Evans.” The boy looked to be the same age as Fleamont, and was of a similar height. “Please, excuse me.” The boy turned and hastily left.

“Professor Dumbledore, were you looking for me?” Fleamont, the real one said. Charlus and Isabelle were still gazing worriedly at the Evans boy as he walked away.

“Ah, yes. Your grandfather, actually. I wish to speak with Lord Potter. I had no idea the family had already returned.”

“Actually, it’s just us that came back early,” Fleamont said. “Father and grandfather stayed on. They will be returning in a week’s time.”

“Ah,” Albus said. “Would you mind owling me when they return, dear boy? The matter is rather pressing, but I will need to speak to him in person.”

“No problem, Professor. I’ll do that.”

“Thank you, Mr Potter.” Albus smiled. Fleamont was a talented boy, if a bit lax with the rules, and he had enjoyed having him in his classes. “Do keep in touch, will you? I know all you recent graduates like to pretend your old teachers don’t exist, but if you ever need anything, you let me know. Same goes for you, Miss Potter. My regards to Dorea, Charlus.”

“We’ll keep it in mind, Professor,” Isabelle said, with a genuine smile.

Albus left, eager to get away. He hoped he had not stirred up any trouble; Charlus did look awfully worried there. He wondered if the Evans boy was his, or Henry’s by-blow. Either way, there may be a lot of explaining to do to the younger ones. Isabelle Potter was a bright and curious young witch and would not let the matter go easily. But family scandals were not his business to worry about; he had his own, more pressing concerns.

 

*****

 

By Tom’s third day working at Lily’s Garden, he had already settled into a routine. He would take the first bus out from the orphanage and arrive at five-thirty. Lily would always insist he have breakfast, which Tom would give in to after a few (polite) protests. Afterwards, he would help Lily set up for the day, then floo with Mr Evans to the market to pick out fresh fruit, vegetables, eggs, and herbs. The cafe grew many of its own ingredients, but there was still a lot to get, and Evans insisted on picking out his own produce.

Between seven and eight, Evans would teach him cooking skills. Tom’s first thought was that this would be quite boring, but then Evans would explain all the ways different ingredients could be used to give different flavours, and Lily would explain their uses in potions and healing. It was all quite fascinating, and Tom had to admit he was learning quite a bit. Afterwards, for an hour, Tom would help Lily with any administrative work; placing orders, checking stock and equipment, and tallying up the finances. Then at nine, the cafe would open, and Tom would begin waiting tables.

Tom was already getting to know all the regular faces. There was Mrs Murphy, who took up her knitting needles every day at nine-thirty sharp and stayed until just after lunch. Amal Saleh, the olive-skinned girl with the familiar magic from his first day, would come as soon as the cafe opened and stay until five pm, when her mother would stop by on her way back from work and collect her. He also recognised the pretty Italian girl from Hufflepuff; he was sure she was the older sister of Alessandro Zabini, Slytherin from a year below him. He worried for a while that Alessandro would come in, dragging half his dorm with him, but girl-Zabini always came alone and sat near the window to read or draw quietly in a notebook.

In addition to the regulars, the cafe was quite busy, with people coming in and out. It was surprising at first, being in Rift Alley, but Tom supposed it was close enough to Diagon Alley proper to catch some of the overflow in customers. Lily was right - it was hard work, and Tom really was put through his paces. Yet there was something really satisfying about knowing that, by the end of the week, he’d have some money to show for it.

At three pm, Tom took his break with great relief. He was too tired to even think about working on his assignments. It being a Saturday, the cafe was even busier than usual. In addition, they’d be open until nine in the evening, unlike on weekdays where the cafe closed at seven-thirty. Tom made his way into the kitchen and sat down at the table, allowing Lily to take control of the front. Wearily, he rested his head on his folded arms, trying to catch his breath. A few minutes later, a tray was set down in front of him. He looked up to Mr Evans’ customary grin.

“No regrets?” he asked.

“None,” Tom said.

While he ate, he watched Evans cook. Tom had to admit, it was quite fascinating to watch. The man seemed to have an endless supply of energy. He was quick and graceful while he moved, and utterly focused as he seemed to lose himself in the task in front of him. A small smile played across his face, like this was exactly where he wanted to be.

Though he would vehemently deny it out loud, Tom had to grudgingly admit to himself that it was quite admirable. He had heard how notoriously difficult it was for squibs to find a place in the wizarding world. Growing up in a muggle orphanage, he also knew first hand how the pecking order could get the best of you. Purebloods right on top, lording over everyone. Then came the half-bloods, only marginally better than the mudbloods. Squibs were the lowest of the low; total outcasts.

He was almost finished eating when he glanced Teddy in the courtyard. The boy wasn’t allowed in the kitchen or front while the cafe was open, but Tom often spotted him playing in the garden. He idly wondered who watched the boy while he was in their private quarters. Surely, they wouldn’t leave such a young boy alone?

Finished with his meal, he glanced quickly at Mr Evans, and then quietly went out the back door. The courtyard was filled with sunlight. Teddy was playing near the small fountain in the middle of the square, splashing water all over himself. Tom walked up to him.

“Hello, Teddy.”

“Tom!” As always, Teddy’s hair and eye colour changed to match his own when he saw him.

“Does Lily know you’re having a bath in the courtyard’s fountain?”

Teddy stuck his tongue out at Tom, but before he could say anything they were interrupted.

“Master Edward.” An old man with a neatly clipped grey beard and perfectly coiffed white hair stood with his arms folded at the entrance to the Evans’ private rooms. He was dressed in black slacks, a crisp white shirt, and a bow tie, all under neatly pressed black robes - a formal servant’s uniform.

“Master Edward, this behaviour is unbecoming. You will need another bath. Inside, now.”

“Aw, ‘Bert”, Teddy moaned.

“I will not say it again, Master Edward.”

With great reluctance, Teddy dragged himself into the house.

The man turned his attention to Tom.

“Alberto Malich,” he said.

“Tom Riddle.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Master Riddle,” said Mr Malich, with a small, sharp nod of his head. He then turned around and followed Teddy into the house.

How interesting, Tom thought. Was Teddy a pureblood? Then again, from what he’d heard purebloods used house-elves as servants. He’d never heard of any using human servants. It seemed a very muggle thing to do.

There was also the matter of expense. House-elves were bound to a family and worked for free, but a human would need to be paid. A small cafe in Rift Alley wasn’t going to bring in anyone’s fortune. And ‘Evans’ was not an old wizarding family name; either Hadrian had been disowned for being a squib and taken a different name, or he came from a line of half-bloods. Which meant no old wizarding money. Maybe he or Lily came from old muggle money? But, with the exchange rate, they’d have to be stupidly rich by muggle standards to be only moderately rich in the wizarding world. And why give it all up to run a small alley cafe? It was quite the riddle; one Tom was quite curious to solve.

Realising his break had come to an end, Tom hurried to get back to work.

 

*****

 

Tom was utterly exhausted by the time they had closed up, cleaned up, and packed away for the day. It was half-past ten in the evening, and all he could do was collapse tiredly into one of the chairs by the fire. He sat there, slumped, with his eyes closed for ten minutes before Lily kindly called him into the kitchen for tea.

Reluctantly, he got up, but was glad when he sat down at the kitchen table and the spicy scent of whatever Mr Evans was cooking washed over him. He poured himself a cup of tea from the pot and wondered how the man could still be on his feet, cooking, after a day like today.

Tom was halfway through his second cup when Lily reappeared in the kitchen.

“Wow, what a day,” she sighed, sinking into a chair next to Tom. Evans put down a steaming bowl of fragrant rice and another of what looked like chicken in some spicy smelling gravy, along with a fresh salad.

“Do I smell curry?” A deep, melodious voice asked. Tom looked up to see the intimidating woman from his first day of work, standing in the doorway to the courtyard. Mr Malich stood just behind her.

“Tish! You’re back!” Lily said.

“Hello, Tish. Would you like some chicken korma?” Evans grinned.

Morticia glided over to the table. Mr Malich stepped in, pulled out a chair for her and allowed her to sit down. He delicately arranged a plate of food and placed it down in front of Mr Evans, before doing the same for Morticia, Lily, and then lastly, Tom. Once everyone had been served, he made up two more plates, put them on a tray with a pot of tea, and swiftly made his way out the kitchen, across the courtyard and through the door to the private rooms. He did not return.

Tom ate in silence. He feared looking up and inadvertently meeting Morticia’s eye. He didn’t know what it was about the woman that scared him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. He decided instead to concentrate on his food, which was delicious; delicately spiced, creamy, and like nothing he had eaten before.

“Have you ever eaten curry before, Tom?” Lily asked.

Against his will, Tom looked up, knowing it would be incredibly rude to answer to his plate.

“No,” he said. “It’s the kind of food they eat in India, right?” He’d read that much.

“Yup,” Evans said. “I like trying to make new foods, from different places around the world. I didn’t have much variety growing up, so I try and make up for it. Do you like it?”

“Yes, I suppose it’s alright.” He shrugged.

“Different from the stuff you get at Hogwarts, I’ll bet.”

“Very. The food there is good, but quite traditionally British,” he paused, unsure if it would be rude to ask. “Did you go there?” He thought this would be the more polite way about asking after Evans’ squib status.

“Hogwarts? No. Lily and I both had private tutoring. We haven’t always lived here either.”

“Oh,” Tom said. “How long have you been here in Britain then?”

“Two years,” said Lily.

“And how long have you and Mr Evans been married?”

They both froze, then burst out laughing. Morticia just continued eating, staring off into the distance.

“Merlin, ‘Mr Evans’ –,” Lily was practically bent over with laughter. “– is my father!”

“Lily and I are _not_ married,” Evans said, his face contorting oddly, as though he wanted to both laugh and scowl, but couldn’t decide which. “We’re siblings.”

Tom felt confusion as heat clawed up his neck, looking between the two of them. Lily was still doubled over, and Hadrian was laughing now too.

“Ah,” said Evans, stifling his laughter. “Half siblings. That’s why I’m a lot browner than she is. But we’ve got the same eyes, see.” Tom did see; Hadrian’s eyes were the same bright emerald green as Lily’s, except they were far more striking against his bronze skin than her milky white. He also noticed other similarities then, in the nose and jaw, and their identical grins.

“Oh,” he said.

“And if you’re going to be spending so much time around us, you may as well call me Harry.”

“Old man,” Lily teased. Tom pretended not to hear her.

Well, this explained a lot. He had thought they were very young, to be married, and while they clearly cared for each other, they didn’t behave in the nauseating way of other young couples. Unbidden, his gaze drifted to Morticia. Before he could look away, Evans – Harry noticed.

“Morticia is… an old friend of the family, you could say.”

Morticia cocked her head to the side and looked at Harry.

“Friend?” She echoed.

“Yeah, and Albert is her… manservant, I suppose? Though he pretends to be everyone’s manservant while he’s here. I think he’s really just a control freak that needs everything to be done a certain way.” Harry grinned.

“You’ve met Teddy,” Lily added. “Harry is his godfather. And then Harry’s godfather stays here too, but I doubt you’ll see him around much. He’s awfully busy, and has some difficulty getting around. And that’s everybody who lives here. You could say we’re just a jumbled-up collection of people, who are mostly not related to each other, living together.”

A jumbled-up collection of people… well, that was an interesting notion. So far, all of the magical families he’d seen had been the traditional sort. He’d always felt vaguely uncomfortable by the notion, the concept of a ‘family’ something alien to him. This sort of arrangement seemed a lot less uncomfortable; after all, there were a lot of advantages when you were able to choose who to live with.

“It’s getting late. I’ll apparate you home, okay dear? I don’t like the thought of you taking the bus out so late,” said Lily.

“Thank you,” said Tom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. This chapter has been split into two parts because it was really long. Part Two will be posted soon.
> 
> I'm really enjoying some of the speculation and discussion happening in the comments section :D You guys are awesome!


	4. Potters and Potioneers (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve always imagined Fleamont Potter as something of a rogue, perhaps with a certain “disregard for the rules” that may have been inherited by his grandson. And of course, every mischievous young man deserves a demanding older sister to pull him by the ear when necessary. Out of love, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially I wanted to keep this fic to purely Tom’s POV, but I’ve realised as I started properly mapping things out, that the plot would not allow it. Especially once Tom returns to Hogwarts, there will be a lot that will need to be explained that is happening on the outside for things in the story to make sense. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who continues to show their support through comments, kudos, and just reading and enjoying this story. You guys have really kept me motivated. 
> 
> No beta, so any mistakes are entirely my fault.

“Aunt Dorea...”

The air felt stifling in Charlus Potter’s house in Godric’s Hollow. Or maybe that was just the undeniable awkwardness of the conversation Isabelle was trying to have.

“Yes, dear, what is it?”

“Well…”

“Oh, spit it out, Belle!’

“Shut it, Flea!”

“Children.”

“Sorry, Aunt Dorea,” Isabelle sighed. “It’s just, well, a delicate matter.”

“Not that delicate. People have a bit of fun on the side all the time.”

Her aunt’s eyes widened.

“Bitterness does not become you, Fleamont Potter.”

“Is this something to do with your uncle?” Aunt Dorea sounded worried.

“No, she already believes Uncle Charl to be ‘innocent’. It’s dad she thinks got the bastard.”

“Flea!”

“You’re just beating around the bush, I’m actually getting this conversation somewhere.” He stood up from the loveseat he’d been slumped across. “See, Aunt Dorea, we were walking through Diagon the other day and Professor Dumbledore came across this lad that looked exactly like me. He actually thought he  _was_ me, for a moment. We’re identical, except he has green eyes and weird piercings. Not that I’d mind a few pierc-”

“Father would disown you in a heartbeat, Fleamont Henry Potter!” Isabelle huffed, not even allowing him to finish.

She heaved a heavy sigh.

“So, I confronted Uncle Charlus, asked him if you know... and he assured me that he hadn’t!” she hastened to add. “– and as far as he knows, neither has our father. But I was just wondering, if maybe you knew something. It’s just that, if this boy is in any way related to us, I’d rather he know he has family, you know.” She shuffled awkwardly, looking anywhere but at her aunt.

“Isabelle, you have such a gentle heart,” her aunt said. Fleamont blew a raspberry. Aunt Dorea promptly cuffed him around the head.

“Dear,” Aunt Dorea continued, ignoring the resident idiot. “Thank you for bringing your worries to me. As far as your uncle is concerned, I have never worried that Charlus may be unfaithful to me. The Potter men are good men.” She gave Fleamont the patented Black ‘dirt beneath my dragon-hide boots’ look. “Well, mostly.’

Isabelle snickered.

“Obviously, nothing can be said with absolute certainty, but as far as I’m aware, your father has never had an affair. Have you considered that the boy could be more distantly related? Perhaps you should investigate before worrying over needless accusations. Find out who the boy’s family is, and whether he is adopted. That may give you some clues.”

“That… sounds like a good plan. Thank you, Aunt Dorea.”

“Any time, my dear.” With that, Dorea Black Potter gracefully left the room.

Isabelle sighed again.

“Well, come along, Flea,” she said, dragging him by the ear.

“Ouch! Wait, what are you doing? Ow! Let go of me!”

“You can’t sit around moping all day. We’re going to investigate your infinitely better looking and less annoying twin brother.”

“No, you can do that on your own!” She let go of his ear but seized his hand and continued to drag him out of their uncle’s house.

“You’re coming with me, I know where your thoughts will run if you’re left to yourself. Maybe you can look for an apprenticeship while we’re out, find a new goal to focus on.”

“Belle, no! I don’t need a job, I need a holiday! I just said goodbye to Hogwarts three weeks ago! This is not fair!”

“You’re ridiculous. We just got back from a holiday.”

“I would hardly-” Ignoring all protests, she apprarated them straight to Diagon Alley.

 

*****

 

They spent half an hour slowly walking up Diagon Alley, before Isabelle decided they would have better luck finding her fool of a brother an apprenticeship first. They made their way to the main apothecary and stepped inside to talk to the owner.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully. Luckily, Flea had given up his dramatics trying to resist and was now willingly following her. He loved potions, and so he quickly lost himself in the ingredients lining the shelves.

“Good morning,” the man replied. “How may I assist you?”

“I was actually wondering if you know of any potioneers who may be seeking an apprentice,” she said, flashing her best smile.

The man nodded. “I can think of a few that may be interested. I’ll write them down for you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

 

Half an hour later, they had visited two potioneers with no luck, and Flea was starting to get restless.

“This is useless,” he groaned.

“Shut it. There are two more on the list, but neither is in Diagon. Hmm… one is in Knockturn Alley.”

“YES!”

“Don’t be daft. The other is in Rift Alley. Does anyone even go to Rift Alley?”

“Exactly, it’s useless. Let’s go home.”

“Nope, we’ll check this last one out.”

“In Knockturn Alley?” he grinned, all innocence and dimples.

She gave him a withering look.

A few steps into Rift Alley, she stopped. The alley was long, narrow, and none of the shops seemed clearly marked. She paused between a second-hand shop and what looked like a cafe, debating on whether to stop and ask for directions.

“Wait here,” she said, ducking into the cafe alone. A bell tinkled merrily when she entered. She paused, taking in the cosy, sunlit room.

“Welcome to Lily’s Garden,” a young woman with thick red hair and brilliant green eyes greeted her with a smile. “I’m Lily.”

“Hello,” she said. “I’m actually looking for the potioneer here in Rift Alley. I wondered if you could help me with directions.”

“Of course. It’s right upstairs actually. See those stairs just outside? Up two flights, and it’s the first door you see.”

“Thank you, Lily.”

“You’re welcome! Pop in for some tea before you leave the alley. First pot is on the house.”

Isabelle smiled as she left. Maybe they could stop by on the way back. It seemed like a very pleasant cafe.

“Come along.” She grabbed Flea and started dragging him up the stairs.

When they reached the specified door, the only indication they had the right place was a small engraving of a bubbling cauldron on the wooden door. Isabelle knocked and waited. And waited. She knocked again.

“Really, Belle, couldn’t you have Seen that the man wouldn’t be home?”

“Shush!”

She tried the door handle. It opened.

“Ooh,” said Fleamont. “Breaking and entering. How exciting.”

Ignoring the town fool, she walked into the quiet shop. The room was gloomy, filled with shelves with neatly stacked vials of potions. Towards the back she could see an open door which lead to what must be a brewing area. The smell of chemicals and herbs hung thick in the air.

“Hello,” Fleamont called, following her inside. “Anybody home?”

Isabelle rolled her eyes.

“Looks like we’ll have to-”

“Impatient as ever, Potter?” a voice drawled. A tall man with lanky black hair and a hooked nose emerged from the brewing room, swathed in black robes. He paused, seeming to just notice Isabelle “And who is this?”

“Er, do I know you?” Fleamont said, sounding as confused as Isabelle felt. The man turned his scrutiny on Fleamont.

“Apparently not,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“You are Mr Potter, yes? You have the look of one,” he said. “Are you in need of a potion?”

“Actually, we wanted to know if you’d be keen to take on an apprentice, Mr…?” Isabelle asked.

“Snape,” the man snapped. “And ‘keen’ is hardly the word I’d use. Which one of you wants an apprenticeship?” His black eyes glittered menacingly. Isabelle was coming to regret this trip down Rift Alley.

“I do, Sir,” Fleamont gulped. Then again, maybe this would be a good learning experience for Flea.

“Your N.E.W.T. scores?”

“Outstanding for potions, sir. An E for herbology. Os and Es for the rest. Well, and one A for history of magic. Sir.” Isabelle just barely held back a laugh. They weren’t bad scores, and Flea had been bragging about them since he’d gotten his results. But now he looked so unsure of himself, faced with this sinister old potioneer.

The man turned on his heel and began walking back to his brewing room. Isabelle noted that he walked slowly, and with a slight limp.

“You have three days,” he stated, not turning around. “Bring me one vial of perfectly brewed Draught of Living Death. And a copy of your official N.E.W.T. results.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You can see yourselves out.”

Taking their cue, they hurried out of the shop, closing the door behind them. The sunlight outside was jarring after the musty gloom of the laboratory.

“Well,” said Flea, as they hurried down the stairs. “That was interesting.”

“Yeah, I think I could do with a cup of tea right about now.” She led him into the cafe, sitting down at the nearest empty table.

“Hello, welcome to Lily’s Garden. What can I get you?” a beautiful young boy asked as they sat down. He had delicate features and dark, shiny curls.

“Tom,” a voice interrupted before she could respond. “You forgot Mrs Murphy’s -” Hadrian Evans cut himself off as he emerged from the kitchens, his eyes narrowing at Fleamont Potter.

Isabelle gasped softly, the voice of the potioneer echoing through her head, “Impatient as ever, Potter”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Next chapter will be posted soon. It's already written, but I like to keep at least two chapters ahead while writing so I have a bit of space to go back and edit things as the plot demands.


	5. A Side Order of Suspicion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. Thanks for all the lovely comments as usual. 
> 
> I've been getting a lot of questions and confusion in the comments about two things, and instead of answering each one of you individually I thought I would answer it here.
> 
> (If you don't want to know any of this, you can skip straight down to the story below.)
> 
>  
> 
> The first question is around who Lily is. Lily is Lily Evans Potter (Harry's mum). I think a lot of the confusion is because she is young and introduced herself as his sister. In the books, Lily Evans died when she was 21 years old, so hypothetically, if Harry were to 'save' her after the Battle of Hogwarts, she would be in her early twenties in this story. That's too young for her to pose as Harry's mother, seeing as he is only a few years younger than her. That's why she is pretending to be his half-sister instead. 
> 
> The other question is why Harry wouldn't bring his father/Sirius/other people back and 'save' Snape instead. I think if Harry had the option, he would definitely have brought them back. Having Snape with him means that he wasn't able to 'save' his father/Sirius for whatever reason.
> 
> The time travel stuff will be addressed soon. There is an "in the future" chapter soon after chapter 10. A lot of Harry's situation will become clear then, so please hang on until then.
> 
>  
> 
> [I have no beta, so any mistakes are my own. Please enjoy :) ]

Well, isn’t this interesting, thought Tom.

Sitting at the table in front of him was a startled copy of his boss. Tom looked curiously between Harry and the other young man, but kept his face carefully blank.

“Oh,” the doppelganger said. “It’s you.”

An indecipherable look crossed Harry’s face, before he carefully smoothed it out. He turned back to Tom.

“You forgot Mrs Murphy’s biscuits, Tom,” he said with a gentle smile.

Tom was loath to leave, just when things were getting interesting, but he had no choice. He dashed into the kitchen as quickly as he could, hearing Harry politely ask, “Is there anything I can help you with?” as he went.

He got the biscuits and quickly, yet carefully brought them out to Mrs Murphy, setting it gently down beside her. Mrs Murphy, he noticed, was ogling Harry and his new customers not too discretely over her spectacles.

Tom busied himself slowly clearing one of the tables, all the while listening in on the conversation.

“... couldn’t help noticing you bear a certain resemblance to my brother,” the woman was quietly saying. “Our family is quite large, and old, and it’s not always possible to keep track of who is related to whom, so we were wondering if you had any relation to the Potters?”

Harry ran his hand awkwardly through his nest of dark hair.

“Don’t know, to be honest, but I don’t think so. I’m half-blood, but I don’t know much about my dad or his family. I kept my mother’s name, see.”

“Oh,” the Potter woman said. A suspicious look crossed her face, like she was sure Harry was lying to her. Tom meanwhile, _knew_ that he was. Lily had let slip the other evening that her _father’s_ name was Evans.

Harry cleared his throat.

“So, can I get you two anything? We have quite a wide selection of teas, and I’ve just pulled an apple crumble from the oven.”

“That sounds good,” Ms Potter said. “A pot of Assam to go with it.”

“I’ll bring it right away.”

He walked back into the kitchen.

“Always awkward when the children uncover a bastard,” Mrs Murphy muttered to herself. She seemed to realise Tom was standing there. “Best not repeat that to anyone, dear.” Her eyes glittered in warning.

Not wanting to gain the old woman’s ire, Tom hurried off to help Harry.

 

*****

 

Tom was halfway to the Leaky Cauldron on his way back to the orphanage, when two figures stepped out of the shadows in front of him.

“Hello there,” the Potter woman said, her brother just behind her. “I’m Isabelle Potter. This is my younger brother, Fleamont.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms and Mr Potter,” Tom said. It always paid to be polite to purebloods. “Tom Riddle. How may I help you?”

“Have you been working with Mr Evans long?” she asked.

“Just over a week.”

“How much do you know about him?”

Tom was silent. They were suspicious, and they wanted something. As a Slytherin, Tom knew that information always came at a cost.

“I’m not sure it’s very professional of me to discuss my co-workers with strangers on the street,” he said, keeping his expression neutral.

“Of course,” said Ms Potter. “Naturally, an exchange is better than a demand. The Potters are an old family. Maybe we can help each other out?”

“A favour?”

“Of equal value,” she added.

Tom continued walking. He knew they would follow.

“I’ll tell you what I’ve learned so far, but this is a once off. I won’t be your never-ending font of information. I may be a Slytherin, but I do have some loyalty.”

“Of course, you’re a Slytherin,” Fleamont Potter said. It was the first he had spoken. His face twisted in distaste. Probably a Gryffindor.

“Harry Evans is a squib,” Tom said.

The Potters came to a sudden halt.

“What?” said Ms Potter. “How do you know?”

Tom frowned, he didn’t like revealing too much about himself.

“I’m sensitive to magic. I can’t feel any from him. He also does all his cooking the muggle way, and I’ve never seen him with a wand.”

Tom continued walking.

“You’re probably assuming he’s your… illegitimate brother, or something. Well, if he was abandoned, it’s probably for that reason. So, he’s pretty much worthless to you. He owns the cafe, and runs it with Lily, his half-sister. Harry has both his godson and his godfather living with him as well. He’s a pleasant enough person, but pretty much unremarkable. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

The Potters seemed to be mulling everything over, identical frowns on both their faces.

“I suppose,” said Ms Potter. “Thank you.” They walked off. Tom doubted he would be seeing them again anytime soon - no pureblood wanted to be linked to a squib. But he would remember his favour and come to collect it in time.

 

*****

 

“Lord Potter,” Albus greeted, settling down on the armchair. A house-elf popped in, and quietly set a tray of tea on the table in front of him. He picked up his cup and took a careful sip.

“This is lovely,” he said. “Brought back from your trip? I hope your journey was pleasant.”

“It was most enjoyable,” said Lord Potter, sinking comfortably into his seat. “What can I do for you, Albus?”

The old man was always straight to the point, much like his grandchildren. Albus appreciated the forthrightness, since he had been worried about the best way to broach the subject.

“Grindelwald has been getting bolder in his attacks,” he began. “Minister Spencer-Moon worries that he will soon bring trouble here. In my opinion, it’s only a matter of time.”

“I’m not surprised, Albus,” Lord Potter said. “There are difficult times ahead of us, to be sure. I would have left my grandchildren in India on our recent trip, but Isabelle could not See whether it would be safe from attack; all she Saw was that the muggle war would be far reaching. And if things do take a turn for the worse, I’d rather my family be where I can keep an eye on them.”

They sipped their tea in silence for a few minutes.

“Tell me, Albus. There is a rumour that you were familiar with Lord Grindelwald in his youth.”

Albus swallowed. If he hoped to get anywhere with this conversation, he knew he would have to be frank. Lord Potter was a man that valued honesty and integrity.

“Yes,” he said. “I was unfortunately misguided in my youth. Gellert and I suffered the same delusions of grandeur, you might say. However, I was fortunate enough to eventually see them for what they were. Which brings me to why I am here.”

Albus set down his teacup and looked the old lord in the eye.

“I am sure you have heard of the Deathly Hallows.”

“You believe in a children’s tale, Albus? That one may become the Master of Death by finding three trinkets?”

“Yes, I do,” said Albus. “So does Gellert Grindelwald, in fact. And, I very much suspect, so do you.”

Lord Potter said nothing, just continued to calmly sip his tea.

“Grindelwald already has possession of the Elder Wand. It has long been his mission to collect all three Hallows. Hypothetically speaking, should you be in possession of a rather fine invisibility cloak, it may be prudent to find an equally fine hiding place for it. If I was able to trace the Peverell line to your family, you can be very sure my old… friend will be able to do the same.”

“Thank you for your warning, Albus. You have left me with much to consider.”

 

*****

 

_.... filthy muggle father…_

An echoing stone chamber, flooded floors.

_... Salazar Slytherin’s noble work…_

Running. The beast. Grasping the hilt of a sword.

 

RUN!

 

Isabelle woke with a start, covered in a sheen of sweat. More dreams. And then the eternal question, a dream, or a Dream?

Groaning, she threw herself back onto her pillows. Casting a quick Tempus charm, she groaned again. Too damn early to be worrying about damn visions!

Throwing on a robe, she got up and padded, barefoot, out of her rooms. She made her way through Potter House, thinking that a walk through the gardens in the cool morning air might just clear her mind enough for her to sleep again. However, as she passed the drawing room, she heard voices.

“... after the cloak, there’s no safer place than Gringotts!”

“We should take it out of Europe entirely, Henry!’

Uncle Charl? What was he doing here so early in the morning? She sneaked closer to the door.

“You think Grindelwald’s going to bother with a registered portkey to go after it? We won’t even realise, and it will already be gone!”

Someone cleared their throat.

“Come in, Isabelle.”

Damn it! How did her grandfather always know when she was sneaking around? You’d swear  _he_ was the seer.

She opened the door and leaned against the frame with her arms crossed.

“Great time for a family meeting. You might want to cast a silencing spell next time, though.”

“Isabelle, dear. Close the door and sit down.” She moved to do so while her grandfather waved his cane to cast the charm. “Tell me, dear, have you Seen anything concerning lately?”

She thought for a moment, wondering how much she should share.

“I’ve been having… strange dreams. They’re just snatches of conversations and events, nothing concrete. I’ve heard ‘Dark Lord’ mentioned a few times, but I’ve seen nothing that could actually tell me anything. The dreams are getting more frequent, though.”

Her father and uncle both looked extremely worried.

“What is going on, grandfather?” she asked.

“You’re aware of our family heirloom, Isabelle?” Her father asked.

“The cloak?”

“Yes,” said uncle Charl. “We do not make it common knowledge, but our little cloak is actually  _the_ Cloak of Invisibility.”

She thought for a moment, frowning.

“Are you talking about the Deathly Hallows?”

“Yes, my dear one,” said her grandfather.

“Where is it now?” she asked, not doubting her grandfather’s word for a minute. He was not one to exaggerate the truth.

“It’s in my possession,” said her father.

“And let me guess; you suspect Lord Grindelwald will be after it if he finds out, and now you’re trying to hide it?”

“Right on one,” said uncle Charl. “Apparently, Grindelwald already has the Elder Wand. Your father proposed storing the Cloak in Gringotts; I’d prefer if it left the country entirely.”

“What about Hogwarts?” Isabelle asked.

“I’ve already spoken about the possibility with Professor Dumbledore, though he is not too keen on the idea,” said her grandfather. “He said, if the cloak were to come to Hogwarts, it would need to be hidden in a place not even he could find. Considering that man knows the castle like the back of his hand, I’m afraid we will have to make other arrangements.”

Isabelle thought hard for a few minutes.

“Would you be able to hold onto the cloak for just a few more days? I’d like to think about it and see if I can come up with an alternative.” She said.

“That shouldn’t be a problem, love,” her father said. “After all, we still have not yet come to a consensus.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Oh, and before I forget, there’s something I’d like to speak to you about, father.”

“Isabelle…” said uncle Charl, groaning.

“You have to admit, the situation is suspicious, uncle Charl.”

“What is it, dear one?” her grandfather asked.

“There is a boy, who owns a cafe in Rift Alley. He looks like he could be Fleamont’s twin; round about the same age too. I am sure he has Potter blood, but I’ve never seen him before now.”

“What makes you so sure he is a Potter, aside from the fact he looks like Fleamont?” her father asked.

She recounted the incident with Professor Dumbledore and their visit to the potioneer above the cafe.

“When we walked in, I am sure he mistook Fleamont for the Evans boy downstairs, in the same way Professor Dumbledore mistook Evans for Flea. Except he addressed him as ‘Potter’, and like he was very familiar with calling him that. He wasn’t surprised to see Fleamont in his shop, but he didn’t recognise me.”

“Intriguing,” her grandfather said. “Boys, anything you need to tell me?” He looked sharply at his sons.

“No, father,” said Henry Potter. “You know we would not dishonour our name so.”

“Exactly,” said uncle Charl. “You made sure to raise us with integrity, father. Besides, could you imagine what Dorea and Aaliyah would do if either of us tried something so stupid?”

All three men shuddered.

“There’s something else,” said Isabelle. “There’s a young boy who works at Evan’s cafe - Riddle, his name is. He said that Evans is a squib.”

This was met with silence.

“Oh dear,” said uncle Charl. “I hope one of our cousin’s hasn’t gone and done something foolish.”

“Indeed,” said her father. “After all the work we’ve put into the Wizengamot, championing the rights of muggleborns and magically-challenged wizarding folk; if it gets out there’s a Potter somewhere who abandoned his child because the boy was a squib… It could set everything we’ve struggled for back to square one.”

“Well,” Isabelle said, after a few minutes of silence had passed. “I was hoping to get back to sleep after a little walk. Doesn’t really look like that’s going to be happening now.”

She bid farewell to her family, then crept back into her room and flung herself onto the bed.

It was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Your comments are appreciated :D


	6. Hide-and-Seek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in posting. This chapter was written some time ago, but for some reason I kept revising it and revising it. I found it quite difficult to write, to be honest. But I'm satisfied now - as much as I can be. (*laughs awkwardly*)
> 
> Thank you again for everyone's kind words and comments. I really can't believe how positively my little story has been received by you all. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. 
> 
> No beta, so all mistakes are my own.

Tom felt elated stepping into the cafe. He’d been working at Lily’s Garden for almost a month, and he had quite a bit of money saved. He’d be able to get some  _decent_ things for school this year, not just the second-hand rubbish he usually had to scrounge for with his meagre scholarship fund. And he’d done it all on his own.

He was also feeling more and more at home at the cafe; Tom didn’t think he would feel that way about anywhere except Hogwarts. Gradually, the staff and regulars were beginning to grow on him. Mrs Murphy was like a hive of information of anybody and everybody in wizarding London; Tom now had quite the collection of scandals he may be able to put to good use in the future. Amal Saleh was always keen to discuss whatever book she had propped in front of her and had even started teaching him French, and Zabini was a quiet but calming presence. Even Potter, who annoyingly popped down every lunch break from his apprenticeship upstairs had occasional interesting things to say about whatever potion he was working on.

And then there were the residents of Lily’s Garden. First, there was Teddy. Tom was annoyed by most of the children at Wool’s, but strangely he found Teddy to be quite endearing. Maybe it was the fact that the little boy usually looked at him with awe instead of terror, and respected when Tom wanted to read instead of play.

Lily was kind enough that Tom was able to forgive her frequent teasing. She regularly helped him with his homework (she was actually as good at charms and potions as she’d claimed) and was constantly recommending and discussing her favourite books from the cafe’s many bookshelves. Snape, the old potioneer from upstairs - whom Tom had learned to be Harry’s godfather - was also a fascinating man to listen to. He had the most interesting thoughts on the science of potion making and spell crafting, and he discussed them with Tom like he was an actual adult, not just a child who ‘didn’t know anything’.

Old Mr Malich, he had learned the hard way, was a truly terrifying cook, who would burn just about anything he tried to make (even tea!); but was a surprisingly patient piano teacher. He had offered to teach Tom, who had jumped at the chance. Orion Black and Edgar Rosier had both learned to play from the age of five, and it seemed just about every other pureblood was moderately skilled at some instrument or another. Luckily, with Tom’s excellent memory and long fingers, he seemed to have a knack for the instrument and was progressing quite quickly.

Morticia was just as irrationally terrifying as ever; Tom still wasn’t sure what to make of her. She was so eerie, but then she would walk around the cafe in fluffy white slippers, cooing to one of her cats, or enthuse with Harry about the merits of one type of curry versus another, and then Tom didn’t know  _what_ to think. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to mind Tom; she mostly ignored him, staring off into the distance, or reading quietly in a corner. Tom could deal with that.

And then there was Harry’s phenomenal cooking. Tom looked forward to every time he was assigned the job of taste testing one of his new creations. He had never been more well fed in his life - he didn’t think he enjoyed even the food at Hogwarts as much as the food Harry cooked up. And Harry would always put the food down in front of him with a flourish and an infectious grin that Tom was finding increasingly harder not to reciprocate.

“Morning,” said Tom, as he followed Lily into the kitchen.

“Just you and me today, old man,” said Lily. “Harry’s having a bit of a lie in, but he’ll be down later on.”

“Is he sick?” Tom asked, biting his lower lip.

“Nope, just lazy. But I’ll allow it since it’s his birthday.”

“Oh,” said Tom, distractedly wondering exactly how old Harry was. He thought it may be a bit rude to ask though.

“Speaking of, you’re welcome to stay after closing for some cake after supper. It’s a surprise though, so don’t tell Harry.” Lily winked at him.

Tom and Lily proceeded with preparations in comfortable silence, and at nine o’clock, Tom went to flip the ‘closed’ sign on the door to open. He had barely done so when Zabini gracefully swept in.

“Morning,” she said with a small smile. She moved quickly to her favourite spot by the window and pulled out her sketchbook.

“You look lovely today,” said Tom; and she did. She wore a pale-yellow sundress that complemented her dark skin perfectly, and small cream and yellow flowers dotted her braids.

“Thank you,” she said, before taking out her quills and ink and starting to draw.

Tom was about to head back into the kitchen when he glanced out the street facing window - and saw the last person he wanted to see, heading straight for the cafe. Dumbledore.

_No, please no!_ thought Tom, unintentionally letting out a low growl.  _Anywhere but here!_

Tom began to panic, wondering if he had time to switch the sign back to closed. Then someone grabbed him around the wrist; he turned around to see Zabini.

“Come along,” she said, and gently pulled him by the wrist. Zabini calmly opened one of the French windows leading out onto the courtyard, gracefully stepped out and motioned for Tom to follow. He did.

Tom was seething; Dumbledore in his space, in his lovely, peaceful cafe, was even worse than Mrs Cole putting two runts in his bedroom. How could this happen?

His thoughts were derailed though, when he realised where Zabini was leading him - into Harry and Lily’s private quarters.

“Wha-” he started; as much as he had been curious, he hadn’t dared to come in here. He valued this job far too much to risk it for anything.

“Don’t worry,” Zabini said. “They won’t mind.” She led him into a large open living area, then motioned for him to sit down on one of the comfortable looking couches.

“I’ll go let Lily know and help her out until he’s gone.”

“Why would you help me?” Tom asked. Slytherins and Hufflepuffs were not known for getting on. It was not the same deep-seated rivalry as with Gryffindor, but nevertheless, the Slytherins had always looked at Hufflepuff house as wasted space.

“Professor Dumbledore has never treated you very fairly, has he,” she simply said. It wasn’t really an answer, but before Tom could say anything else, the quiet girl had gone.

Not having anything better to do, Tom looked about the room. Soft morning sunlight streamed through the large windows, which were partially open to let in a cool summer breeze. Plush cream carpets covered the floor, and the walls were pale blue half-panelled with cherry wood. There was a small but pretty blue marble fireplace against one wall, and several bookshelves stood around the room – the Evans really did have a lot of books. As with the cafe, several large windows overlooked the courtyard. He realised that Harry must have actually bought more than one adjoining apartment to make a space this big, that could comfortable house six people - which lead him to once again wonder exactly where Harry got his money from.

His musings were interrupted by soft footsteps coming down the stairs to his left.

“Old man Tom!” said Teddy, grinning wildly at the sight of Tom. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m, er, on a bit of a break,” said Tom, deciding to keep it simple.

“Oh,” said Teddy. He looked like a little Harry this morning. “Play hide-and-seek with me then.”

Tom realised this would be the perfect excuse to investigate the rest of the house. “Ok,” he said. “But I’m hiding first.”

Teddy grinned, then covered his eyes with his hands and started counting out loud, occasionally mixing up some of the numbers. Tom sneaked away, and quietly headed up the stairs.

He emerged in an ‘L’ shaped corridor on the first floor, which wrapped around the courtyard. To his right, another flight of steps led to the second floor. Tom quickly but silently made his way around the corner to the far end of the corridor and tried the door there. It was locked. He moved back down the corridor and tried another. This one opened.

He looked into a spacious bedroom. Pastel blue wallpaper dotted with gently floating hot-air balloons covered the walls. The carpet was a fluffy dark green. A single unmade bed stood against one wall, and a number of toys littered the floor. Tom closed the door on what must be Teddy’s room. He moved to the next one.

Much to his surprise, this one opened as well. Tom carefully pushed the door and looked in. It was another bedroom, this one decorated with dark wood floors and light, blue-grey walls. A large, four-poster bed of carved dark wood stood in the centre of the room - occupied.

Harry was lying, sprawled on his stomach, fast asleep. The silky, dark green duvet was pooled around his waist, revealing a surprisingly well-muscled back. Tom was just about to retreat, when he heard Teddy call out, “Coming to find you, old man!”.

Tom quickly stepped into the room, silently closed the door behind him and moved over to the far side of the room, then sat down on the plush cream rug next to the bed, keeping very still. A minute later he heard the door open, and then Teddy’s voice, whispering, “Are you in here, Tom?”

Three seconds passed, then Tom heard the door close again. A moment later, he heard the soft sound of Teddy’s footsteps moving away.

Tom let out a breath, leaning his head back and almost jumped when he felt something knock against the back of his head. He looked behind him; a book, on the dark wooden bedside table.

Carefully, he picked it up.  _Snakes: Symbols of Healing and Protection in Magical and Muggle Contexts_. Intrigued, he flipped to a random page.

_In South and South-East Asia, for example, the muggle spiritual leader, Buddha, was said to have been protected by the mythological serpent king, Mucalinda. Legends such as these had great impact on the views of muggles towards snakes. Wizarding settlements were similarly affected; Parselmouths in these regions have long been revered for their unsurpassed skills in warding._

Totally lost in the book, Tom was once again startled when he felt a hand run through his dark curls. He looked up to see a single emerald eye peeking at him from under a nest of tangled black hair.

“Mmmning’,” Harry croaked. He seemed still half asleep. “You like snakes?” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” said Tom, his heart beating erratically in his chest. He took a few measured breaths and calmed down. “I’m surprised though. I’ve never seen the ability to speak Parseltongue used in any positive context.”

“That’s because we live in Europe,” said Harry, shifting slightly on the bed so he could see Tom better. His right hand dangled over the edge of the mattress in front of Tom. “The rise of Christianity in Europe had a great influence over how snakes were perceived. They became symbols of deceit, death, and vengeance. People forgot that they used to symbolise healing, protection, rebirth, and fertility.”

“How did Salazar Slytherin deal with that kind of perception?” Tom wondered, more to himself than anything.

Harry snorted. “He seems like the kind of guy who probably just didn’t give a fuck about what anyone thought of him. Though, everyone else in Europe at the time that had the ability probably just hid it.”

“Other Parselmouths? So, if someone had the ability now, they wouldn’t necessarily be a descendant of Slytherin?”

Harry looked at him strangely. “No, not necessarily. But there is a strong possibility. It is an awfully rare ability, after all.” He paused. “Are you a Parselmouth, Tom?”

Tom hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

“Oh,” said Harry. “Me too.”

“What?!” Tom yelled, then clapped a hand over his mouth. Harry snickered.

“Ah, I think that’s the best reaction I’ve gotten out of you yet.” Harry grinned.

Almost against his will, Tom felt a smile tug the corners of his mouth. Then he sighed.

“I thought I may be… the heir of Slytherin.”

“Like I said, there is the possibility. Have you tried tracing your family line?”

Tom grimaced and looked down. He closed the book and placed it down next to him.

“I… I’m an orphan. I stay at Wool’s Orphanage in London. I don’t know anything about my family.”

“Another thing we have in common then,” said Harry.

Tom looked at him, incredulous. “What?” he said again, but a lot quieter this time.

“My parents died when I was a baby; I grew up with distant muggle relatives. They weren’t exactly the best in terms of child care. For half my life I didn’t know anything about my family, or that magic even existed. I only met Lily a few years ago.”

Tom sat contemplatively for a few minutes.

“I looked for the name ‘Riddle’ in the library archives and the trophy room at Hogwarts. I couldn’t find anything,” he said. If not for his being a Parselmouth he may have believed his housemates’ past claims of him being a mudblood.

“Have you considered that you might have gotten your gift of Parseltongue from your mum’s side? Do you know her name?”

Tom only knew that his mother had died shortly after giving birth to him. Surely a witch wouldn’t die from something as banal and muggle as childbirth.

“No,” said Tom. “I only know she gave my middle name for my grandfather. ‘Marvolo’.”

“‘Marvolo’ sounds like a wizarding name,” said Harry. “Maybe you should search for that.”

“Maybe,” said Tom. It may just well be his only lead. He looked at Harry’s hand dangling in front of him and noticed the strange scars there for the first time. Not really thinking about what he was doing, he tugged the hand towards him. It took him a few seconds to realise the scars formed words. Upside down, it read ‘I must not tell lies’.

“Why are you up here, anyway?” Harry asked. He did not sound angry, or even annoyed - just curious.

“I was hiding from one of my professors, who came into the cafe,” said Tom, deciding to be honest. He traced the letters of the scar with one finger. “Dumbledore hates me. I have no idea why, but it’s been that way since we met”. Tom looked sullenly at the hand in front of him, not even seeing it. Instead, he was remembering his very first meeting with the old bastard.

“He’s the one who brought me my letter, told me about magic,” said Tom. Vaguely, he wondered why he was sharing all of this. Maybe because he knew that Harry would not judge him for any of it. There was something undeniably  _good_ and  _trustworthy_ about the man. “He made up his mind about me back then, that he didn’t like me. And he’s been making my life difficult ever since.” Tom scowled.

“And here I was, thinking you just wanted the pleasure of my company,” Harry drawled. Tom gave a small laugh. He let go of Harry’s limp hand and stood up.

“He’s probably gone by now. Sorry to disturb you.”

He walked towards the door.

“Tom,” Harry called. He paused with his hand on the door knob and looked back over his shoulder. “I’ve been on the wrong side of a teacher who held a preconceived opinion against me.” Harry held up his hand and formed a fist, displaying the words, ‘I must not tell lies’. “People like that, you may never change their opinion about you, but it doesn’t matter.  _They_ don’t matter. I hope you can remember that.”

“Thank you, Harry,” said Tom, and he meant it.

He opened the door and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments are read and appreciated <3


	7. Interrogation and Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Everyone, at some point in their lives, wakes up in the middle of the night with the feeling that they are all alone in the world, and that nobody loves them now and that nobody will ever love them, and that they will never have a decent night's sleep again and will spend their lives wandering blearily around a loveless landscape, hoping desperately that their circumstances will improve, but suspecting, in their heart of hearts, that they will remain unloved forever. The best thing to do in these circumstances is to wake somebody else up, so that they can feel this way, too.” - Lemony Snicket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone's kind reviews!  
> It will take me some time to get through all the comments; I'm at the last week of first semester and literally everything is due this week! Trying very hard not to procrastinate by writing fanfiction >.<
> 
> Once again, no beta, so all mistakes are mine.

Writing on a stone wall glittered in blood:  _The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware._

The image faded.

They stood in an echoing bathroom. A young Evans hissed. The sink slid back, revealing an open, gaping pipe in the floor.

One by one, they jumped down the shaft, and were swallowed up by darkness.

 

*****

 

Tom let Teddy ‘find’ him, before announcing he had to get back to work. By the time he got downstairs, he hoped that Dumbledore really had left. Not wanting to take chances, he sneaked through the courtyard into the kitchen. Lily was in the process of finishing off someone’s spinach and feta omelette.

“He’s gone,” she said, without him having to ask anything. “He was meeting someone here, but they only stayed about twenty minutes.”

“Sorry about that,” said Tom. He was slightly embarrassed for having run away and left one of the customers to help Lily.

“No worries, dear. Here, take this out to table two will you,” she said, handing him a tray with the omelette and a cup of steaming black coffee.

Tom did so. Once out front, he noticed Zabini back in her corner, drawing. After he’d delivered the order, he made his way over to her.

“Thank you,” he said. “Whatever you’ve ordered today is on me.”

She gave him a soft smile.

“It’s no problem, Tom.”

 

*****

 

“Something is off,” said Isabelle, pacing. The rest of her family were seated around her in the drawing room. “It felt so real - like a genuine vision - but it’s impossible!”

“Are you sure it’s not possible for you to See the past?” her brother asked.

“Yes, I haven’t found a single record of a Seer seeing into the past. Not that it matters -  there is no way Evans could have been at Hogwarts with us. He was wearing a Gryffindor tie - you would have noticed him, Flea!”

“Maybe he’s older than he looks?” said Uncle Charl. “Or maybe, he will disguise himself as a twelve-year-old to sneak into Hogwarts, in the future?”

“Is that even possible? The man is a squib. It’s not like he can glamour himself, and polyjuice can’t de-age you.”

“All this ‘not possible’ nonsense - you’re really closed minded for a Ravenclaw,” said Flea. “If Unspeakable Potter could stop trying to unravel the mysteries of the universe for one minute and just focus on what is important here, that’d be great.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“Simple. The Chamber of Secrets exists, Harry is a Parselmouth and knows where it is - and we should hide the Cloak there.”

“You just said it yourself, Flea.  _Evans_ knows where the Chamber is. And we’ll need  _him_ to open it - unless there’s another Parselmouth miraculously hiding right under our noses. Which means trusting him with our Cloak - a Deathly Hallow.”

“So,” said Flea. “He seems like a genuine lad; plus, if our hunch is correct, he’s a Potter too. And nobody is going to think that a  _squib_ will have such crucial information - or a skill like Parseltongue. I think we should trust him, or at the very least, see what he has to say about it.”

“Fleamont may be right,” said Lord Potter, his eyes glinting as he seemed to come to some conclusion. “Maybe you should question Evans about the Chamber - test the waters. We do not have very many options, at this point.”

“Fine,” said Isabelle.

“Great!” said Flea, beaming. “We can ask him tonight. I wrangled us invites for his birthday! Wear something nice, sister dear.” He winked and marched out the room, off to his apprenticeship.

“That boy,” muttered her mother.

_Just knows how to get his way_ , Isabelle finished in her head.

 

*****

 

The rest of the day passed without incident, but Tom was still relieved when Lily announced they would be closing early that day, at six pm.

After they had done the usual clean up, Tom helped Lily move some of the tables into the courtyard and arranged them in a long line near the fountain. They covered them with a large white table cloth and set the table for twelve. Tom wondered who all the guests were, but supposed he would find out soon. Lily charmed dozens of candles to float above the tables, and strung fairy lights through the surrounding trees and plants. She then asked him to go get Teddy from the living room.

By the time Tom returned with Teddy, Amal Saleh, along with her mother, and Zabini were sitting around the table, chatting enthusiastically with Lily.

“You’ll definitely be in Ravenclaw, Amal,” Zabini was saying. “Just going by how much you love reading.”

“I don’t know,” she responded. “Tom loves reading just as much as I do. Maybe I’ll be in Slytherin.”

Zabini laughed softly. “Maybe my parents could adopt you then. They were awfully disappointed when I ended up a ‘Puff. At least my brother carried on the Slytherin tradition.”

“I want to be a Hufflepuff too, like my mum was,” piped up Teddy. He thought for a moment. “Or maybe I could be in Slytherin with Tom!”

Tom smiled. “I would have graduated by the time you start, Teddy.” He tried to say it as gently as possible, but Teddy still looked crestfallen.

“I wouldn’t worry too much, children,” said Lily. “I’ve known Gryffindors who are cunning, and Hufflepuffs who were bookworms, and Slytherins that are very brave. Being in a certain house doesn’t define who you are, or all you will ever become.” She smiled and walked through the kitchen door.

“I wouldn’t pressure Amal either way. I don’t know much about Hogwarts,” said Mrs Saleh. “We hadn’t planned on coming to England, but then Harry convinced us it would be a good place for a fresh start.”

“You know Harry from before you moved here?” Tom asked.

“Yes, we met him while he was travelling through the Lebanese Republic.”

So, Harry had done some travelling before coming to England. Tom had never been outside of Great Britain, except to attend Hogwarts, and wondered how many places Harry had visited.

“Zabini, you’re in fifth year this year, right?” said Tom, filing this new information on Harry away for later inspection.

“Yes. I’ve been made prefect.” She smiled. “And if we’re to be friends, you can call me Amadea, Tom.”

“Congratulations on your achievement, Amadea,” Tom gave her a rare, genuine smile. He’d come to like Amadea. She seemed to have a natural charm, like her brother, but lacked his arrogance. Tom realised that there were very few Hogwarts students that didn’t either fear him, or fawn over him. Talking to her and Amal was something of a refreshing change from his usual group of Slytherin sycophants.

Lily soon returned with the last of the guests - the Potters. Tom was surprised to see them. True, Fleamont Potter was overly familiar with everyone, but they had only known Lily and Harry for two weeks. Then again, Tom remembered Harry calling Lily a ‘generous woman’; maybe Potter had played on her kindness.

By the time introductions were made, Snape had arrived with Mr Malich.

“Now, just waiting for the birthday boy,” said Lily. “Ah, here he is.”

Harry stepped into the courtyard, talking animatedly to Morticia. He almost stumbled into one of the chairs, and only then seemed to notice everybody there. He froze, and his eyes widened in surprise.

“Happy birthday, Harry!” said Lily. Everybody else chorused the same.

Harry shuffled awkwardly, before a huge grin split his face. He grabbed Lily in a tight embrace and laughed, joyous and carefree.

“Thank you,” he said, softly, clinging onto her. Tom suddenly felt uncomfortable, as though he were intruding on a private moment. Eventually Harry let go, but the grin never left his face. Everyone took their seats, and Lily and Snape levitated the food out of the kitchen and onto the table.

Tom recalled what Harry had said to him that morning, and wondered what it might feel like, to find a long-lost sibling who would care for you unconditionally. Someone who would throw a surprise party, no matter how small, just to see you smile. Something ached in his chest, halfway between terror and hope. Realisation hit him then, that no matter how at home he felt at Lily’s Garden, it wasn’t truly his. Harry and Lily would always have each other, but Tom - Tom would have no one.

He started eating, but for the first time since his arrival at the cafe, the food tasted hollow.

 

*****

 

By the time Lily had set cake, coffee, and tea down on the table, Isabelle was feeling pleasantly full. Everyone around her was chatting amicably to one another. With the fairy lights in the trees, and the stars blinking down at them from above, a sense of peace seemed to have fallen over the courtyard.

Isabelle waited until they had all moved to the Evans’ pleasant living room, before she subtly directed Evans to a corner away from the other guests.

“I was hoping to speak with you about something, Mr Evans.”

“Harry,” he said. His eyes flickered with interest. “What is it?”

Isabelle glanced around; everyone else was some distance away and seemed preoccupied with their own conversations.

“Not many people are aware, Harry,” she began quietly. “But I happen to be a Seer.”

Harry looked mildly surprised but motioned for her to go on.

“It’s come to our attention recently that one of our family heirlooms is under threat - from Grindelwald. We’ve been looking for a safe place to hide it from him, but it seems there are not many places that are not within his reach.”

“And you want  _me_ to hide it?” He said, eyes glinting in suspicion.

“Not quite.” she paused. “Harry, I know you’re a Parselmouth.”

He froze.

“I also suspect that you know where the Chamber of Secrets is hidden.”

Harry laughed, but without humour.

“You want to hide the cloak in the bloody Chamber of Secrets? And you think I know where it is? Hate to break it to you, but I don’t. And I wouldn’t go looking for it either - the Chamber is supposed to hold a terrifying beast that chews muggleborns for fun.”

“But, surely-”

“Look,” said Harry, cutting her off. “I’m really sorry, but you’re going to have to make other arrangements.” He walked off, sat down between Snape and Lily and joined in their conversation.

Well, so much for that plan. Isabelle rubbed her temples. She could feel a headache coming on.

“Er,” a small voice came from behind her. It was the young Arab girl - Amal - who’d been sitting with Riddle and Zabini at supper.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing. Did you say you were looking for the Chamber of Secrets?”

_Damn!_ Isabelle thought.  _Could this get any worse?_

“I’ve read a lot about it; in fact, I’d planned on looking for it once I got to Hogwarts. Not to unleash terror, or anything. Just to see if I could,” said Amal.

“I already have an idea of where it is, Amal. The problem is opening it. Only a Parselmouth can do that.”

Amal glanced around. “Well,” she said quietly. “Luckily for you, I happen to be one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: there will be a fair amount of angst next chapter. But then right after that there will be fluff to 'soothe the burn'. Really fluffy FLOOF. Teddy, Tom, and Harry floof. But yeah, you have been warned. I'm sorry, in advance, but the plot must move forward.
> 
> You comments and kudos are much appreciated. See you next week!


	8. Light in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My idea of a perfect [orphanage] is one in which there are no children at all" - or, Mrs Cole channels her inner Trunchbull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's reviews and comments have been really amazing so far, thank you!  
> Also, thank you dear readers for 1000 kudos! I really can't believe it. \o/
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Child abuse, as well as mentions of past child abuse in the next chapter.  
> I have no beta

Consciousness slowly returned to Tom. His entire body felt heavy and relaxed under a feather-light blanket. A cool breeze was blowing against his skin. Abruptly, he sat up, realising that this was far too comfortable to be his room at the orphanage. He looked around. Harry and Lily’s living room. He must have fallen asleep on the couch last night.

A clock on the wall declared it to be four-thirty in the morning. Suddenly feeling awkward for having fallen asleep there, he got up and made his way to the kitchen.

It was dark; counter tops and chairs just hulking shadows standing about the room. A sudden movement in the corner of his eye had him turning rapidly, whipping his wand out of his pocket in the process.

It was Morticia.

She was standing against one wall, silently looking at Tom.

Tom took a few deep breaths to steady his rapid pulse.

“Good morning, Ma’am,” he said.

She didn’t say anything, just continued to stare. Tom grew more and more uncomfortable as he stood, remembering the isolation he had felt at the party the previous night. If he hadn’t practised his ‘unconcerned’ mask to perfection, he was not sure he would have gotten through the evening.

“Um, will you let Harry and Lily know I’ve gone back to the orphanage for some clean clothes? I’ll be back by seven, for the latest.”

YES

Tom shivered. It was almost as though he had  _felt_ her response instead of hearing it.

“Well, thank you then.” He left quickly. It would take him half an hour at least to get to Wool’s. The sooner he left, the better.

 

*****

 

By the time he got back to the orphanage, it was a quarter past five. The other children would soon be up, beginning their chores. He hoped he could sneak past Mrs Cole and so prevent the inevitable confrontation at him having spent the night out.

He hopped over the fence, and made his way around the back, hoping to sneak in via the kitchen door. He’d gotten halfway through the kitchen when he was caught.

“Well, well, if it isn’t pretty boy Riddle, back from his nightly jaunts.”

“Hello Stubbs.” Tom tensed. It would probably be best to deal with this one while there were no other witnesses. He wasn’t in the mood to rein in his temper this morning. “Do us both a favour and keep your trap shut. We wouldn’t want any accidents.”

Billy the Brute just folded his arms across his chest, an evil sneer spreading across his pudgy face.

“I’m not scared of you, freak,” he said, with too much force. The brute had gotten bolder since he had grown taller and broader, but Tom noticed the slight tremor in his crossed arms. “Cole said you’d gotten a job, pretty boy Riddle. Now, I wonder what sort of depraved work has a young lad like you out all night? Might be some rumours going ‘round if you don’t watch it.” His eyes glinted malevolently.

Tom felt his magic rising. Yes, if he could direct his wild magic so that the brute had an unfortunate accident, there’d be no way to trace it through his wand. Before he could lash out though, they were interrupted.

“Riddle! What do you take me for?” Mrs Cole thundered. “My office, now!”

She rounded on Billy. “To your chores, William!”

He scuttled away, and Tom was left to follow Mrs Cole to her office.

“I can explain,” he said, as the office door once again slammed shut behind him. “I had to work a late shift. I ended up falling asleep and only woke up an hour ago. I didn’t plan on staying out.”

Mrs Cole slapped him across the face. The crude metal ring she wore on her right hand caught on his lip. He tasted blood, and felt it beginning to swell.

“You expect me to believe your lies, boy? Maybe young William is right about your depraved ways. I wouldn’t be surprised if a little devil like you forged a letter to get out of honest work.”

“I’m not lying!” Tom yelled.

“You have one chance to confess, boy! Or perhaps it’s time to bring Pastor Brown in again?”

Tom sealed his lips and glared.

“Very well then,” she said, her mouth a grim line across her wrinkled face. “We’ll see how a day in the hall cupboard loosens your tongue.”

“No!” Too late; Mrs Cole dragged him out by his ear, stopping only to unlock the small cupboard. The door opened, revealing a gap in the wall almost too narrow to stand in. Sharp bits of wood and broken nails lined the interior, which was filled with cobwebs, and - Tom knew from previous experience - the occasional rat.

Mrs Cole threw him inside. Absently, he felt some of the nails tear into his arms. He turned around awkwardly in the narrow space, but Mrs Cole had already slammed the door, locking it.

Tom screamed. The building shook, but the door remained shut. He tried to get to the wand in his pocket but couldn’t reach behind him.

Slowly, he took deep, measured breaths, trying to calm down. The cupboard was pitch dark; he couldn’t see anything. He could feel the jagged walls closing in around him and fought down his panic.

He was going to get fired. Lily and Harry would wonder briefly where he had gone, and then decide he was no longer welcome. He was going to lose Lily’s Garden. Terror slowly filled him.

_Lily, Harry - anyone. Morticia, please… Mr Snape…_

 

*****

 

The Potter family’s drawing room was full once again; these early morning family meetings becoming more and more frequent. Even Aunt Dorea had turned up this time.

“Please tell me you obliviated her?” Flea was slumped on his seat, cuddled up next to their mother like a five-year-old.

“Of course, I did,” Isabelle snapped. “What do you take me for?”

“Why weren’t you using a privacy spell anyway? I thought ‘Muffliato is an Unspeakable’s Best Friend’.” He drawled the last part in an annoying sing-song voice.

“I didn’t want to draw more attention to our conversation. It was a small gathering, after all. Besides, the girl doesn't remember a thing, so no harm done.”

Isabelle sighed in frustration, but her brooding was soon interrupted by her grandfather’s unfailingly calm voice.

“So, what do you plan on doing now, dear one? Two Parselmouths, one willing and another unwilling to help us.”

“One of them is just a child,” her mother shot, looking sternly at her grandfather. “I don’t like the thought of you using a child.”

“It may make things easier,” said her father, earning him a withering look from his wife. “As of this year, she’d have access to Hogwarts. She won’t have to sneak in. We can verify her motives using legilimency - with her consent of course!” He added hastily, seeing his wife’s face turn murderous.

“And we can make her take an oath of secrecy,” added Flea. “Besides, a child would be as unassuming as a squib; no one would suspect her.”

“I’m not comfortable with this, as a mother. If the girl is to be involved, it should be with the consent of her parents.”

“I agree,” said Aunt Dorea.

“That would mean involving another person!” Isabelle protested, though she could see her mother’s point.

“I won’t budge on this one, Isabelle. If you endanger that girl without getting her mother’s consent, I’ll set that cloak on Fiendfyre and save everyone the bother.”

Fleamont gulped, while everyone else shuffled awkwardly in their seats. Her grandfather, however, merely chuckled. Isabelle knew her mother would go through with that threat, and not even Lord Potter would step in to stop her.

“Very well,” she sighed. “I’ll set up a meeting with Mrs Saleh and her daughter.”

 

*****

 

Tom wasn’t sure how much time had passed before the light appeared. It glowed, silver bright in the darkness, above his head. A gentle warmth flooded through him, along with memories of Lily’s warm smile, Teddy’s carefree laughter, and the scent of Harry’s cooking. Tom craned his neck, looking for the source of the light.

A glowing, silver hummingbird hovered over is head. Tom had never seen anything like it. Suddenly the noises from outside the cupboard seemed to return, and he heard a familiar voice.

“... isn’t like him to miss work; he hasn’t been late a single day.”

Lily.

“The boy had chores to attend to. And he never notified me he would be staying out,” said Mrs Cole’s voice, sounding surprisingly contrite.

“That would be my fault entirely. He fell asleep after a late shift, and I left him. He’d been working hard all day, the boy deserved to rest,” said Lily. There was a hard edge to her voice that Tom didn’t think the gentle woman was capable of. “Would you be a dear and call him? We really do need his help today.”

Tom almost snorted at the thought of Mrs Cole ever being anyone’s ‘dear’.

“Like I said, he’s busy with his chores. I’ll send him along later.”

“Oh, well then.”  _No_ , thought Tom. She was going to leave.  _Please don’t go!_

“I guess I’ll just have to wait until he’s done.” Tom let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. He wondered how Cole was going to get out of this one.

“Yes, well,” Mrs Cole said, and Tom could hear her shuffling awkwardly.

“Marie!” she suddenly yelled. “Marie, dear,” she said with false sweetness. “Would you take our guest to my office. The lady can wait there while I go fetch Tom from his chores.”

“Yes, Mrs Cole.” Tom heard them walk off.

The hummingbird above his head suddenly disappeared. Tom only had a moment to miss its warmth before the door to the hall cupboard was flung open. Mrs Cole stood in front of him, seething. Every revolting thought he had for the woman threatened to spill from his swollen lips, but Tom only just held them back. He didn’t want to ruin his chance to get out.

“Come, boy,” said Mrs Cole. She led him by the arm to her office.

Lily gasped when she saw him. He could only imagine the state he was in.

“Caught the boy brawling with his peers,” sniffed Mrs Cole. Lily’s eyes flashed dangerously, and the room temperature dropped.

“Tom, you should know better than to fight,” said Lily, standing up and coming towards him.

Mrs Cole’s hold on his arm tightened.

“Sorry, Ma’am,” he grit out.

“Come along then,” said Lily. He followed her miserably. She was going to fire him anyway.

They left the orphanage in a hurry. Halfway down the street, Tom could bear the silence no longer.

“I didn’t do it. I wasn’t fighting.” The words slipped out before he could hold them in. Lily stopped, slipped her fingers through his own, and gently caressed his face with her other hand. He looked up into warm green eyes.

“I know, dear,” she said softly.

Tom’s breath hitched. Lily swiped her thumb across his cheek, wiping something away. Tears! He hadn’t even realised he was crying.

She nudged him into a side alley, gripped him tightly by the arm, and disapparated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good job making it through the angst. Next chapter will be better for our bean Tom. And then Fluff!
> 
> Fun fact: that moment when you realise Aunt Marge Dursley and Miss Trunchbull are the same person. Go figure.


	9. Pride and Protection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Pride is not the opposite of shame, but it's source." - Iroh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay guys. The universe conspired against me. Luckily for you, this chapter is extra long (like 3k+), so hopefully that makes up for it.
> 
> Thank you for all the continued support. Y'all are amazing!
> 
> No beta, all mistakes are the result of my current flu.

When they reappeared, they were not in Lily’s Garden. They were - Tom realised -  in the potions lab upstairs.

For a few long minutes, Lily just held him, and Tom clung onto her tightly, feeling more tears streaming down his face, while he flushed with shame and embarrassment. He buried his face into her shoulder, realising abruptly that this was the first time someone had ever hugged him. The closest he had come before was when the orphans were forced to huddle for warmth in the long winter months, which was always unpleasant. The other orphans smelled funny and Tom was glad when they kept their distance. Lily, however, smelled of wood smoke, lavender, and ginger biscuits, and rubbed soothing circles into his back that filled him with a gentle warmth.

“There, love. It’s going to be alright,” she said, though she was shaking herself. From fury, Tom realised.

He pulled away, feeling suddenly awkward, and rubbed the tears from his face, flinching when he accidentally brushed over his swollen lip.

“Sev!” Lily called. A few seconds later, Mr Snape swept in.

“Lily, what is it?” He sounded worried at the alarm in her voice. Then he spotted Tom.

“Sit down, Riddle,” he commanded. “You look as though you’re about to fall over.”

“Sev, sort out his injuries. I’m going to get him some tea,” said Lily.

“They did this at that orphanage, I presume?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s a good thing I sent Lily after you, not Harry.”

“W-why?” Tom croaked. Snape began to dab at his lip with disinfectant. It stung, but not as much as the shame of having been injured by a mere muggle.

“Because they’d be scraping what’s left of your Mrs Cole off the pavement!” Lily’s voice called out as she disappeared through the door.

“Not even an exaggeration,” Snape sighed, waving his wand and sealing the wounds on his face. He began carefully rolling up Tom’s sleeves, inspecting the scratches there. “That boy’s got a protective streak a mile wide. And a saviour complex to boot.”

“Harry would be protective of me?” Tom said, disbelieving.  _Nobody_ was protective of him.

“ _Harry_ would be protective of his own worst enemy,” Severus sneered, and there was dark amusement in his eyes. “Particularly in a situation like this.”

Oh, so it wasn’t like he was special or anything. Tom frowned.

There was silence for a few moments while Severus carefully stitched him up.

“How did you know I was in trouble?” Tom asked, just realising what Snape had said.

Snape let out a breath, then glanced down at his folded arms. “I had a feeling when we woke this morning to find you gone, that it might be best to send someone after you. Does this happen often, at that orphanage?”

“No,” said Tom, not wanting pity on top of everything else.

“But it’s happened before?”

Tom didn’t answer.

Snape sighed.

“My mother was a pureblood. Father a muggle. He had similar… tendencies.” Snape seemed to grit out the words.

“He hit you?”

“That’s putting it lightly.”

Tom was surprised. Snape was a powerful dark wizard, much like himself. To hear that he had had a similar experience in childhood was oddly... comforting.

“I’m telling you this, so that you’re aware I’m not pitying you. I just understand. So does Harry.”

“Harry was abused too?”

“Emotionally, more than physically,” Snape said. He considered something for a moment, then added, “The muggles he was raised by were worried he would turn out just as ‘freakish’ as his parents.”

_Muggles_. It always came down to the muggles. Why did they hate magic so much? Well, that much was obvious: they were both jealous and scared.

“And that’s why Harry would have attacked Mrs Cole for doing this?” he asked. Tom would have very much liked to see that.

“Yes,” said Snape. “Harry is a typical Gryffindor - in a word: reckless. I’m sure as a Slytherin, you can understand why it would have been a bad idea to let that happen.”

Tom sighed and nodded. Yes, he could see it. Harry would attack Mrs Cole, and liar as she is, she would come up with some excuse to get out of trouble. Harry would be arrested, and Mrs Cole would no doubt spend the rest of her long reign torturing Tom to no end.

“Have no fear, Tom,” said Snape. “Lily is ferocious, with the bravery of a lion and the cunning of a snake. This Mrs Cole you speak of probably won’t be a bother for very much longer.”

Tom couldn’t help but grin and hope for that.

 

*****

 

Feeling marginally better after a good breakfast in the potions lab with Mr Snape, Tom followed Lily down into the house. They stopped in the first-floor corridor, near Teddy’s room.

“You can use the bathroom here, to wash up. I’ll go see about getting some clothes for you.”

Tom opened his mouth to thank her, but they were interrupted.

“Tom!” Harry was standing outside his room, mouth agape. “What the fuck happened?”

Tom looked down at himself and remembered the state he was in, despite his injuries having healed. His clothes were dishevelled and torn in several places, not to mention spotted with blood.

“Erm,” he started.

“What happened?” Harry growled, stalking towards them. “Who did this to you?”

“I have it sorted, Harry,” Lily calmly stated.

The look on Harry’s face was murderous, and Tom took a subconscious step back.

“ _Harry_ ,” Lily said, more firmly this time. “I have it sorted. Go see about finding Tom some clothes. I’ll show him to the bathroom.”

Harry grit his teeth.

“Fine,” he said. Then he turned to Tom. “Come to my study when you’ve cleaned up. It’s down the corridor. You’re not working today.”

“Yes, sir,” said Tom. He hadn’t realised Harry could be so intimidating. It was both scary, and reassuring.

Lily showed him to the bathroom and where everything was, telling him she would leave some clean clothes for him in Teddy’s room.

Tom ran a bath, then gently began peeling off his ruined clothes. His wounds were healed, but the skin was still a bit tender. Snape said he would be fine in a few hours.

After the cold rationed water at the orphanage, a clean, hot bath relaxed him so much he almost fell asleep in it, but eventually he dragged himself out. Not wanting to put his dirty, ruined clothes back on, he wrapped himself in a towel, checked the corridor outside was empty and dashed across to Teddy’s room.

When he opened the door, Teddy was still bundled up in bed, fast asleep. He spotted the pile of clothes Lily had gotten him laying at the foot of the bed and quickly changed. The clothes were new and fit him perfectly. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about replacing the ones that had been damaged.

Tom quietly made his way down the corridor to where Harry had indicated. The door to Harry’s study was closed. He knocked, and after a moment, Harry opened.

“Come inside,” said Harry. He seemed to have calmed down some from his earlier rage. Tom followed him in.

The first thing Tom realised was that this was the room overlooking the cafe’s seating area. The carved wooden banister was quite high, but Tom could still see over it into the cafe below. No sounds from the cafe could be heard, however, so there must’ve been privacy charms in place.

Harry’s study was comfortable and tastefully decorated, much like the rest of the house. The floor was the same stone as the cafe below, covered in warm rugs and littered with bookcases. A large, carved wooden desk sat at one end, facing the room, and a comfy looking loveseat and armchair huddled around a large fireplace.

Harry took a seat behind his desk and motioned for Tom to sit opposite him.

“Tell me what happened,” he said, rummaging in one of the desk’s drawers.

“Lily didn’t tell you?” said Tom.

“She did, but I want to hear it from you.”

Tom pushed aside his tiredness and embarrassment and explained as best as he could what had happened from the time he left the cafe. Harry listened attentively, while pulling out various objects and placing them on the desk. However, when Tom got to the part about Mrs Cole shoving him in the hall cupboard, Harry’s calm shattered.

“She did what?” he grit the words out, seething and cold.

“She put me in the hall cupboard. She does it to all the orphans when we don’t behave. I don’t know how long I was in there before Lily came.”

Harry growled again and muttered something under his breath. Abruptly, he got up and came over to where Tom was sitting. He put his hand on Tom’s shoulder, who looked up into concerned green eyes. In that moment he thought Harry looked just like Lily. Except he didn’t want  _Harry_ treating him like some child that needed protection.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked softly.

“I’m fine.”

Harry sighed.

“I’m going to give you something to protect you while you’re at that place.”

Tom seethed. “I can handle it myself. I’m not weak!”

“No, you’re just too proud.” Harry glared.

Tom grit his teeth.

“Have you even told anyone about what’s going on there? Headmaster Dippet?”

“I’ve asked Dippet if I could stay at the school over the summer, he said no.” Tom folded his arms and jutted his jaw, glaring in the opposite direction.

“But did you tell him why?”

“Wouldn’t matter. Dumbledore-”

“-Would probably treat you a lot differently, if he knew. He’s got his faults, yes, but he’s not a bad man, Tom.”

“I don’t want Dumbledore’s pity. And I don’t need yours either!” Tom was shaking. A part of him realised arguing with his boss was a bad idea. Harry would probably hate him afterwards, but he was angry and tired and embarrassed, and right now he didn’t care.

Harry heaved a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping, and muttered to himself again.

“Stand up,” Harry said, louder, but not unkindly. Tom realised he was probably about to be given the boot but stood up anyway. He was not prepared when Harry pulled him into his second hug ever.

He thought about pulling away at first - this was a lot more awkward than when Lily hugged him. But then Harry wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer, and Tom slumped, all the fight leaving him.

“Let go of your pride a little, Tom. You should let those who care about you, help you,” Harry murmured near his ear. Tom returned the embrace; Harry was only slightly taller than him, so Tom was able to rest his head on his shoulder.

“Do you care about me, then?” he croaked.

Harry laughed lightly and ran his hand through Tom’s hair.

“Yeah. I care about you, Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

“Then why don’t  _you_ adopt me?” Tom whispered. He half hoped Harry hadn’t heard him; he didn’t want his hopes to be dashed.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” Harry sighed. “They’ll probably tell me I’m too young. But I can ask Lily if she’d be willing. How does that sound?”

Tom pulled away and nodded. That would be alright.

“Can I stay here? I don’t have to go back to the orphanage?”

“You have my permission to sleep over occasionally, but I’m afraid it will be better if you stay at the orphanage for now. We need to go about this legally, in a way that no one will be able to object to. Until the paperwork says otherwise, Mrs Cole is your legal guardian, so you’re going to have to stay with her. But I’m not sending you back to that place without proper protection. Which is what I was trying to tell you before you threw your little tantrum.” Harry gave a wry smile.

“It wasn’t a tantrum.” Tom huffed. Harry laughed.

Harry picked something off the desk and handed it to Tom. It was a smooth, flat stone half covered in strange etchings. There was a small hole near the top, which was threaded with a simple metal chain.

“This is a Parselscript runestone,” said Harry. “I learned to carve them from an old man I knew in Lebanon - I mean, the Lebanese Republic. The rune etchings are for protection, though I’ve only managed to carve half. I thought you could do the rest, since it will be your necklace. You’re taking Study of Ancient Runes, yes?”

Tom nodded, all traces of his bad mood vanishing. He loved learning new things, but he had never heard about any magic relating to Parseltongue before. To be able to learn something like this - a rare form of magic very few people would be capable of - was the opportunity of a lifetime.

“Good,” said Harry, handing him a small, leather-bound journal. It was open to a page with a number of runes meticulously drawn, alongside messy explanations of what they were used for. “These are the runes we will use. I want you to practice drawing them on some parchment before I explain the correct order the runes are to be carved in. I have some carving tools here for you to use.”

Tom nodded and eagerly drank in Harry’s explanations as he began to teach. It seemed the day would not be so bad after all.

 

*****

 

Tom spent the day learning runes, reading to Teddy, and practicing his piano, while Mr Malich helped Lily and Harry with the cafe. When it was time for him to go back to Wool’s, he walked into the kitchen to find Harry and Lily had swapped their work robes for muggle clothing.

Lily wore the same pretty blue dress she had that morning to the orphanage, her long hair clasped behind one ear, while Harry wore dark brown slacks and polished leather loafers with a light green, long sleeved shirt. His sleeves were rolled up casually, exposing parts of the tattoos on his arms. A light cream panama hat sat atop his messy nest of black hair.

Tom had to admit they both looked surprisingly good in muggle clothing.

“We thought we’d take you home today, Tom. Ready to go?” said Lily.

He took her arm, while Harry took the other, and they disapparated, reappearing in the alley near the orphanage.

When Tom walked in with Harry and Lily in tow, Mrs Cole looked like she had swallowed a lemon.

“Mrs Cole,  _dear_ ,” said Lily, her voice dripping poisonous honey. “I’ve been thinking about your problem with the boys brawling, and I think I have a solution. I’m on good terms with Constable Peters from the local station. He’s agreed to pop round occasionally, to make sure everything is alright. It’ll help keep the boys in line, don’t you think?”

Mrs Cole looked panic stricken. Harry looked like he was struggling not to laugh.

“Oh no, not necessary,” said Mrs Cole. “Pastor Brown makes regular visits as it is. I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“Oh, it’s no bother _at all_. Ensuring the orphanage remains a safe space is a public service.”

“Well,” said Mrs Cole. “We thank you for your kindness, ma’am.”

“Tom, you be good now,” said Lily, giving him a wink. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodbye for now, Mrs Cole,” said Lily. She took Harry by the hand and turned to leave, but not before Tom heard her mutter quietly, “I’m not done with you yet, bitch.”

He struggled to hide his grin as he bid them goodnight, fingering the new warded pendant under his shirt.

 

Tom stumbled into his room later that evening, tired, but fulfilled. He was in such a daze, thinking of everything that had transpired, he almost tripped over the two runts lying on the floor near his bed.

“Watch where you’re lying,” he said, annoyed. The smaller one gave a frightened squeak before they both shuffled out of his way. Tom ignored them and prepared for bed; it was almost time for lights out.

He got into bed with a minute to spare; he had just rolled over when he heard the matron on duty calling for lights out, and then everything went dark. Tom settled down under the covers, trying to make himself comfortable on the lumpy mattress. He was just dozing off when he heard a whimper, and then the sound of whispering.

Tom ignored it, trying to drift off again. The runt whimpered again. Tom groaned and sat up.

“What are you two up to? Be quiet!”

There were two beats of silence. Then the older one - the girl - spoke.

“Sorry,” she said, not masking the fear in her voice. “It’s Ben. Mrs Cole was very angry when you escaped. She threw Ben in the cupboard for three hours. Now he’s scared of the dark and won’t go to sleep.”

Tom thought about what it was like in there and shuddered. Wandlessly, he lit the candle he kept next to his bed.

Two frightened faces peeked up at him, a girl of about seven and a little boy Teddy’s age. He was covered in scratches, much like Tom had been that morning. Tom sighed and reached down under his bed, bringing up his satchel.

“Come here, runt,” he said. Ben looked like he would rather run away. Tom rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to bite. I’m tired and want to sleep. Can’t do that with you moaning”

Tom waited for the girl to gently coax him onto the bed, while he rummaged in his satchel for his potions bag. He pulled out a vial of disinfectant and mild healing salve and began dabbing at the boy’s wounds.

“Wha-,” said the girl, as the salve began to take effect. The small scratches began to seal themselves, and the girl gasped.

“Black magic! Billy Stubbs was right, you’re a witch!”

Both runts were looking at him, wide eyed and terrified.

“No,” said Tom calmly. “It’s not black magic, it’s regular magic, and I’m not a witch, I’m a wizard. Also, don’t make me regret healing your little brother.” Tom knew he was flouting the Statute of Secrecy, but these two were so young, no one would take them seriously if they said anything. Besides, the rumours were already going around.

“Can - can you teach me?” the girl asked shyly.

“No,” said Tom. “Magic is something you’re born with.”

“Oh,” said the girl. She looked extremely disappointed.

“What else can you do?” asked Ben, his eyes wide and curious. Strangely, the both of them seemed to have lost their fear after his confession.

“Loads, but I’m not allowed to do magic in front of you, so don’t ask, and don’t tell anyone.”

“Ok,” they said.

“Now, go to bed. I’m the scariest thing in this room, and I won’t attack you if you be quiet and sleep.” Tom was entirely serious, but the boy _giggled_ as he lay down next to his sister. Tom blew out the candle.

“Thank you, Tom. You’re not so bad,” the girl said.

Tom lay back and groaned, throwing his arms over his face.

“I’m turning into a bloody Hufflepuff,” he muttered to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Next chapter: the long awaited fluff!


	10. One Galleon, Seven Sickles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom's broke, Harry's hot, Lily is such a mum, and Teddy Bear is everyone's little brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah guys, I have no idea what is even happening! How on earth did we jump 500 kudos since I last posted? That's like a 50% increase.  
> To quote the esteemed Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honourary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award:  
> "AMAZING! This is just like magic!"
> 
> Seriously, you guys are the best readers ever. Thank You Thank You Thank You!
> 
> Unfortunately, being sick means I fell behind on my research paper deadline - draft, not final, thank goodness - so updates a bit slow. Also, is it just me, or are my chapters getting longer? This one is HALF of a colossal 5k+ beast, that I haven't even finished, but decided to split in two so that you guys can read something.

“Your John Dillinger is here.”

Tom’s head snapped up. Betty Summers stood before him, twirling a lock of her blonde hair in a way she probably thought was alluring. Suzie Samuels stood over her shoulder, looking excitedly out the window.

“What?”

“Your foreign mobster boss. That exotic young lad with the tattoos. Look.” She pointed out the window to what had so obviously caught the other girl’s attention. 

Harry was lounging casually against the building opposite the orphanage, dressed similarly to the other day. His sleeves were rolled up, hands in pockets, while he watched the muggles walk by - muggles which were giving him quite a wide berth and casting suspicious glances as they passed.

_Harry - a gangster?_ The corners of Tom’s mouth twitched.

“Wonder if he’s got himself a wife.” Betty muttered. “Bet there’d be an awful lot of excitement - and you’d get into all those posh clubs, no doubt.”

“Don’t be daft, Betty. Them’s not the type to take  _wives_ ,” said Suzie. “Though maybe I’d settle for being one of his favourites.”

Tom sneered. Samuels had a face like the rear end of an erumpent and Summers, while pretty enough, was easily the most annoying girl at Wool’s.

“Oh, I doubt Harry would lower himself to even acknowledge either of your existences,” he said drily, before walking off. These children were ridiculous.

Tom wondered what Harry could be doing here, as he walked downstairs. It was a Tuesday, so the cafe was closed. Tom usually went in anyway, to help Lily with administrative work - which earned him an extra sickle - but he had made arrangements to go get his school things from Diagon Alley today. 

He was halfway across the street when he heard his name called.

“Tom!” It was Ben and his sister, Hilda. The two had been trailing him like lost pups since he had healed Ben’s injuries. He had ignored them for the most part - luckily, he was away for most of the day, or their presence would have been unbearably annoying.

“Where are you going?” said Ben, as the two of them caught up with Tom. He looked over at Harry, who had left his position against the wall to walk over.

“Out,” he said.

“Is he a witch too?” Ben whispered, but not quietly enough.

“Tom!” Harry chastised. Ben and Hilda’s eyes widened. “Statute of Secrecy?”

Tom shot Ben a dark look, and he withered, moving to hide behind his sister. Looking to Harry, he gave his best wide-eyed, sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” he said. “They found out by accident and I didn’t think anyone would believe two little kids.”

Harry huffed. 

“Don’t let Lily hear about this.”

“Don’t let me hear about what?” 

Lily walked up to their little group, her loose, fiery red hair swaying gently in the breeze. She was accompanied by a tall, graceful young woman in neat muggle clothing, whose white blonde hair and pointed features seemed vaguely familiar. 

“Harry, Tom, something you need to say?” She arched a brow, a calculating look on her face.

Harry gulped. Tom kept his features carefully blank.

‘Nothing! Just some, er, boy’s stuff, you know.”

Lily’s eyes narrowed.

“Harry James, have you ever been told you’re a bad liar?”

“Repeatedly,” Harry grinned, showing off his dimples. Lily’s lips twitched, and the woman next to her snorted. 

“Hi, Tom,” said Lily, turning to him with a smile. “We had some business in the area, so I thought we’d stop by. Would you like a lift to Diagon?”

“Yeah, thanks,” said Tom. He turned to Ben and Hilda. “You’d best get back inside before Mrs Cole notices you’re gone.”

“I should probably be going as well,” the blonde woman said, as Ben and Hilda ran back to the orphanage. “Give Severus my thanks for the potions.” 

“It’s no problem at all, Alanna,” said Lily, giving her a brief hug before she walked off. 

 

*****

 

“Old man Tom! Can I come with you to Diagon Alley?” Teddy was practically bouncing with excitement at the prospect of going out with Tom.

“Have you asked Harry?” The man in question chose that moment to come down the stairs. He’d changed out of his neat muggle clothing into wrinkled casual robes - and it was obvious that he hadn’t bothered to brush his hair again when he’d done so. Tom had come to realise that Harry had two sets of appearance. Privately, he dubbed them the ‘Harry Dressed Harry’ look, and the ‘Lily Dressed Harry’ look. The latter meant pressed robes and trousers, semi-tamed hair, shined shoes, and neatly buttoned shirts that complemented his complexion. Harry’s appearance now, was entirely the former.

“Harry, Harry!  Can I go shopping with Tom?”

Harry looked at Tom and raised a dark eyebrow, askance. Tom shrugged. Either way, it didn’t really matter to him. 

“Alright, but I’ll come with you, too.”

Teddy was ecstatic; his hair flashed violently between shades of bright blue, green, and sunshine yellow. He hopped and skipped between Harry and Tom, all the way down Rift Alley and into Diagon. 

“Where to first, Tom?” asked Harry, taking Teddy by the hand as they started down the bustling, winding alley. 

“I’ll need to stop at Gringotts to withdraw my stipend, and then Malkin’s for robes,” said Tom. He was incredibly pleased to realise that he wouldn’t have to get them second hand this year. He mentally checked through the list he had memorised. “Then Slug and Jiggers, for my potions kit refills. Flourish and Blotts we’ll save for last.”

Diagon Alley was a whirlwind of activity, and Tom was regretting coming out for his supplies so late. There were children everywhere, eating ice cream and enjoying the last bit of summer holidays, while parents raced frantically about trying to get everything they needed before Hogwarts reopened. Tom would have come earlier, but waiting until the last week meant he had the maximum amount of money from his weekly pay.

By the time they had trudged through the crowds to Madam Malkin’s, Tom was hot, bothered, quite out of breath, and more than happy to step into the cool interior of the shop with Teddy in tow.

“Good morning,” a short, curvy woman with curly blonde hair and round spectacles greeted him.

“Hello, Madam,” said Harry, coming into the shop behind Tom. He flashed the woman his customary grin, and a faint blush spread across her cheeks.

“Harry! Good to see you! Now, I know I’ve told you to call me Mary,” she said, ushering them inside. “What can I help you with?”

 “Always lovely to see you, Mary. My friend Tom needs some school robes.” 

Tom matched Harry’s smile. 

“Morning, Madam. A real pleasure to meet you.”

“Ah, Hogwarts, yes. Come, come, stand over here, lad.”

Teddy watched on as Tom stood on a stool while a measuring tape danced around him, and a charmed quill recorded everything at a small table. All the while Madam Malkin chatted enthusiastically with Harry, fingering her blonde hair in a manner eerily reminiscent of Betty Summers earlier that morning.

“You should come around for tea more often, Harry. There was something I wanted to show you - now where was it? Ah, yes,  _Accio_!” She paused in her rambling and waved her wand.

“As soon as I got this in, I thought of you. I remember your fascination with these,” she purred, as a flat box landed in her arms. “Look at this, I know you’ll appreciate it.” 

She opened the box. Curious, Tom strained to see, leaning forward on the stool, and almost fell off. The measuring tape whipped him across the head, clearly annoyed at being interrupted. At this, Teddy giggled uncontrollably, gasping and clutching his stomach. Tom scowled.

“Oh wow,” said Harry, drawing their attention again. “May I?” Madam Malkin nodded and Harry pulled out a sleek, dark silver cloak. The material looked incredibly soft, like velvet, and glittered spectacularly as delicate silver embroidery caught the light. Silver-encased green gemstones formed an intricate clasp at the collar.

“Emeralds?’ Harry asked. 

“Garnets,” said Madam Malkin. “I just realised they’re the same colour as your eyes.” She peeked at Harry from beneath her fluttering lashes. Tom caught Teddy’s gaze and grimaced. The little boy chuckled silently and morphed his face into Madam Malkin’s, making smooching faces at Tom behind her back. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch. Harry, for his part, was doing a considerably good job of looking suitably flattered, though Tom could tell from the way he was holding himself that he could see Teddy and was struggling not to laugh. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it? And that’s not the best part!” With a flourish, she took the cloak from Harry and turned it inside out. The cloak shimmered, and then disappeared. “Demiguise fur!”

Tom gaped. A real invisibility cloak! He had never seen one before.

“What’s the lifespan on it?” Harry asked.

“It’s only just been made and has a twenty-year guarantee against fade.”

She carefully folded the cloak and put it back in its box. Tom eyed it wistfully as she sent it whizzing back to the storage room. 

 

*****

 

It took half an hour to sort out his robes, but Tom was satisfied. Madam Malkin had given him quite a generous discount, since he was a friend of  _Harry_. That, he supposed, combined with Teddy’s antics, sort of made up for her annoying flirtation with his boss.

“Harry, can I get doctoring quill and ink?” said Teddy. They had just come out of the apothecary, and Teddy was pointing excitedly at Scribbulus Writing Instruments.

“A what?”

“Doctoring ink! And quill. So I can write to Tom while he’s at Hogwarts. Please.” The little boy widened his eyes, looking up at Harry with pleading green eyes. His expression was such perfect beseeching innocence, even Tom would find himself hard pressed not to give in.

“Doctoring ink? Do you mean ‘dictating’ ink, Teddy?” said Tom.

“Yeah, that,  _dictrating_ ink and quills” said Teddy. He gave a shy smile as he stumbled over the word.

It was rather a good idea, and Tom was impressed that the little boy had come up with it. The quill and ink would allow him to communicate via letters without the ability to read or write.

“Yeah, sure,” said Harry, bemused. “Would you take him, Tom? I want to pop into Quality Quidditch Supplies.” 

“Sure. You like quidditch?” he said, accepting a handful of coins from Harry for the ‘dictrating ink and quill’. 

“Love it,” Harry grinned enthusiastically. “You?”

Tom wrinkled his nose.

“One day I will invent a means of flight that does not involve clinging precariously onto a charmed twig fifty feet in the air. Then, we’ll see.”

Harry chuckled, and gave him a wry, knowing smile.

“I’m sure you will, Tom.” 

As he watched his boss walk away, Tom felt a warm, tiny hand slide into his own. He almost jumped at the foreign contact, but then stilled. Teddy was bouncing excitedly beside him, and entirely oblivious to what he’d done. Physical contact came so naturally to little children; they had no personal boundaries to speak of, which was why Tom often found them so annoying.

Well, much like the first time - when Lily had held his hand outside Wool’s - it wasn’t entirely unpleasant and was probably for the best. There were  _hoards_ of people about, and Tom knew, without a doubt, that he would never be able to face Lily - or Harry - if the little boy got lost. He tightened his hold on the small appendage and led Teddy across the alley.

Scribbulus was full, almost to bursting, and immediately Teddy was jostled out of his grip. Tom lunged, scooped the boy up, and held him against his hip. Teddy wrapped his little legs around Tom’s waist and linked his arms at the nape of his neck. Tom took deep, measured breaths at the sensation, feeling as though he had just fallen into a nest of Devil’s Snare. His heart beat erratically in his chest, while his lungs struggled to grasp the stifling air of the over-crowded shop. 

“It’s okay, Tom,” said Teddy, morphing into mini-Tom. “It’s only me.”

“You owe me one,” he choked out. The claustrophobia faded marginally with every breath he took. “Let’s get out of here as soon as we can.”

It took twenty minutes -  _twenty!_ \- just to get Teddy’s things and some refills for Tom - though at least it had given him time to become accustomed to the boy’s arms around his neck. By the time they’d squashed themselves back onto the street, he was almost willing to forget the book shop and call it a day.  

“Tom? Is that you?”

He whipped around at the familiar voice. Orion and Lucretia Black were staring at the boy in his arms, heads tilted and identical befuddled looks on their faces.

“I didn’t know you had a little brother, Riddle,” said Lucretia.

Teddy beamed at them.

“He’s not my brother,” said Tom.

Lucretia raised an elegant brow, clearly sceptical.

“You look familiar!” Teddy announced, pointing at Orion.

“It’s rude to point at people, Teddy,” said Tom, pulling his hand back down.

“ _I_ look familiar?” laughed Orion, his black eyes sparkling with amusement. “If that’s not your brother, Tom Riddle, I’ll eat my potions textbook!”

“Eat it!” Teddy burst into helpless giggles, and as he did so, he mimicked Orion’s dark good looks. “Now I’m  _your_ little brother!”

Orion and Lucretia openly gaped. It was actually quite amusing to see their controlled, pureblood veneer shatter with their shock.

“Looks like you’ll be needing a second potions textbook,” said Tom, with a smug twitch of his lips.

“That’s not possible!” said Lucretia. Her already porcelain skin had blanched even further. “The metamorphmagus ability is one that runs through the blood of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black! And there are definitely no  _‘Teddy’s_ in our line.”

“I’ve got Black blood,” Teddy said, nonchalant, while everyone around him - including Tom, this time - gaped again.

“No, you haven’t!” said Lucretia.

“Yes, I have!”

A thought occurred to Tom, and he jumped to interrupt the inevitable ‘Yes/No’ argument unfolding before his eyes between a four-year-old, and a seventh-year girl. 

“Teddy, what do you look like normally? I mean, when you aren’t morphing?”

Teddy grinned, and his face shifted yet again. Tom now held a boy with russet curls and dark eyes, and distinctly familiar features. 

“You look like Walburga,” he said, to which Teddy wrinkled his nose in obvious disgust.

“Ew,” he said, which earned him a strange look from Tom and the two Blacks. Walburga had pleasant features - unless Teddy’s distaste was at the thought of being compared to a girl.

“He  _does_ look like Walburga. How do you have Black blood?” said Orion, eyebrows raised as he curiously examined Teddy’s face.

“My grandma is a Black.” 

“The metamorphmagus ability is so rare, it’s cherished when it appears in our line. Your parents would never have been able to keep it quiet. Why haven’t we heard of you before?” said Lucretia, suspicion etched in every word.

“Because his grandmother was blasted off your family tree for marrying a muggleborn.” The cold voice came out of nowhere, startling them all. Harry was back, and he did not look pleased. A bitter, arctic wind - those were the words that came to mind for the sinister aura that surrounded Harry as he stared at the two Black heirs. Orion gulped audibly, while Lucretia took a careful step away from the intimidating young man.

“Teddy, you know our rules.” Harry’s tone was clipped. He pulled the boy out of Tom’s arms. “Ready to go to Flourish and Blotts, Tom?” 

He didn’t wait for Tom to respond, instead turned and walked off with Teddy. He could plainly see the man lecturing the little boy about something as they made for the bookshop.

“Well, that’s rather awkward,” Orion remarked drily. 

“Does that happen?” Tom asked, curious. It had been said that the Sacred Twenty-Eight went to extreme lengths to preserve their blood purity, but he had never witnessed it first-hand.

“It’s been known to,” said Orion, shuffling in discomfort. Lucretia was staring off in the direction Harry had disappeared, a thoughtful frown on her face. “Even Abraxas’... well. It’s not really spoken about, you know?”

“So, Teddy actually  _is_ your half-blood cousin?” 

“When did Fleamont Potter get so scary?” Lucretia interrupted. “He’s always been rather ridiculous. But now, I’d say he’s quite… attractive.” Her head was tilted to the side, an odd expression on her face. She looked at Tom sharply. “And what are you doing, shopping with him?”

Ah, he should have known the discussion would take this turn.

“That’s not Fleamont Potter, though you’re not the first person to make the mistake. That’s Hadrian Evans, my employer. Teddy is his godson.”

“Employer?” said Orion.

“Evans? Is he a mud- er, muggleborn?” 

He answered Lucretia first.

“Half-blood.”  _Squib_ , he mentally added, though they didn’t need to know that. “And yes, I thought it would be good to get some training in how a business is run.” It was not even a lie - he had learnt a great deal over the previous weeks. His knowledge of business, potions, runes, and charms had grown exponentially - and that wasn’t even counting all the additional books he had read, or the new skills he had picked up in piano and French.

“That’s not a bad idea,” said Orion. Tactfully, neither he nor Lucretia mentioned the glaringly obvious - that Tom could do with the money. By this point, they were no strangers to Tom’s pride, temper, or power. “I wonder if father will allow me to take on an early apprenticeship next summer.”

“Well, I should probably be getting my books now. I’ll see you on the train.”

He bid his housemates farewell and made his way into Flourish and Blotts. By the time he had managed to locate Harry amongst the crowds, he was relieved to see the man’s anger had cooled. It seemed that Teddy’s slip had been forgiven; Tom was sure the boy’s innocent, kicked puppy look had played no small part in that. Teddy was chattering animatedly, and both their arms were overloaded with books.

“I hope you don’t mind, Tom, but I went ahead and collected your school books already. We just need to pay,” he said.

“And  _I_ got you a present!” said Teddy, beaming at him. “A going-away-to-school present.”

“Thank you, you didn’t have to,” said Tom. 

They made their way to the cashier, and Tom paid for his books, thinking forlornly that his money bag felt significantly lighter from that morning. Soon, he vowed, his money troubles would be a thing of the past. He stepped aside to let Harry pay for his purchase. 

“That will be one galleon, seven sickles, sir.”

Harry handed over the money.

“No! It’s  _my_ present to Tom! I want to buy it,” Teddy tugged on Harry insistently.

“ _Okay_ ,” said Harry, raising a bemused eyebrow as he took the money back from the cashier. 

Teddy looked at Harry, then at the cashier, then back at Harry.

“Harry, can I borrow one galleon, seven sickles, please?”

Tom groaned. Harry laughed. The cashier, however, was  _not_ amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for bonding time! Also, it is so hard writing fluff when Tom is still such an angsty bean. I didn't want to overload it for fear of losing the believability, so I hope I managed!
> 
> This is part one of a really long chapter, so the next one will be taking place on the same day. There will be plot, a bit more fluff and bonding, and then after that Tom Kitten will be off to Hogwarts for fourth year! Several new characters are being introduced over this and the following chapters, though luckily a lot of them will be old (lol) faces.
> 
> Any guesses on who might make an appearance at Hogwarts? 
> 
> Also, we will be seeing some 'in the future' real soon. Excitement!


	11. Black and Limoncello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Limoncello - A lemon liqueur from Southern Italy. It has a vibrant yellow colour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!  
> Thank you for hanging on, dear readers. I will get to everyone's comments eventually.  
> I finally have time to write again.
> 
> Just a heads up: the previous chapters have been edited. Nothing drastic has changed - (mostly fixed some bad writing habits and spelling and stuff) -, so there's no need to go back and re-read anything.
> 
> Also good job to everyone who spotted the Lilo and Stitch reference! I love that movie!

“You have a lovely home, Ms Potter,” Mrs Saleh said as she and her daughter gazed about the formal living room. Isabelle was relieved that they had agreed to the meeting. Not knowing how to get in contact, she had passed the message along through Lily.

Amal Saleh’s mother was a tall, elegant woman with curly brown hair that fell in neat waves down her back. Something about her demeanour reminded Isabelle of her own mother. Isabelle thanked her as their elf, Binny, set a tray down.

“I’m not one to beat about the bush, Mrs Saleh, so I’ll get to the point of this meeting.”

That drew both their attention.

“I appreciate that. Though you should know I kept my maiden name, Haddad, and that I am also no longer married. For simplicity’s sake, call me Fayrouz.”

“Thank you, and it’s Isabelle,” she said, holding back a smile. A willingness to familiarity would make this easier. “While we were at Harry Evans’ birthday party, Amal approached me, claiming to be a parselmouth.”

At this the woman glared at her daughter, and the two began a rapid argument in Arabic.

“Which she does not remember,” Isabelle interrupted, seeing that from their body language, Amal looked to be denying the claim.

Fayrouz snapped her attention back to Isabelle.

“Explain.”

“Your daughter overheard a private conversation between Mr Evans and me. The matter we were discussing was quite grave, and for the safety of many people, I had to be sure word did not spread. You have my apologies. I’d like to reassure you, also, that as an Unspeakable, I do have proper training on how to erase memories effectively without causing damage. Amal will be fine.”

Fayrouz heaved a great sigh.

“As much as I would like to blame you, Isabelle, I am aware of my daughter’s _insatiable_ curiosity, and tendency to eavesdrop,” she glared once more at her daughter, who withered under her gaze. “Though I have to ask, why did you ask us here if you had already obliviated her?”

Isabelle took a deep breath.

“Well, it’s regarding what I was discussing with Mr Evans. I have urgent need of a Parselmouth.”

Amal had an annoyed glint in her eye. She obviously was not pleased at having been obliviated.

“How do _you_ know Harry is a Parselmouth? He doesn’t like people knowing,” said Amal.

“I suppose since I know one of your secrets, I can tell you one of mine. I’m a seer. I Saw Harry speaking Parseltongue in a vision.”

That seemed to calm Amal down.

“If I am guessing correctly, you asked Harry to help you, and he refused. Why would he not help you?” said Fayrouz.

“I don’t know. He didn’t give a very clear reason. But I’m here to ask if you would permit Amal to. She expressed some interest in our aims at the party.”

“Can you restore my memory? I don’t remember anything.”

“Yes, and I will explain thoroughly so you know what Amal is getting into,” she looked Fayrouz in the eye. “But I will need some assurances this will not spread. For your safety and our own.”

Fayrouz contemplated a moment, pursing her lips.

“If we do this, I want a favour. For my daughter.”

 “What would this favour be?”

“We are new to this country, Isabelle. As I understand it, you are from an influential family and have a high position in the ministry. My daughter will struggle once she graduates, as a foreigner and a woman. But she is bright. She deserves a chance. You will do everything in your power to secure her a staring position at the ministry. Is that fair?” Fayrouz crossed her arms.

Isabelle laughed. Yes, _definitely_ like Isabelle’s mother.

“Yes, that is more than fair. Now, allow me to explain…”

 

*****

 

“How is Teddy?” Lily asked with a sly grin as Harry practically flopped down onto the sofa next to Tom.

“Passed out cold. Exhaustion from a full day in the sun plus coming down from an ice-cream high is not a good combination for a four-year-old. He sent half the water in the bath flying at me!” Harry dragged his hands across his face.

“Is that why you’re soaking wet?” said Tom. Then, because he was a Slytherin to the core, “You know there are drying charms, right?”

An odd look passed between Lily and Harry. Before Tom could place it, Lily raised her wand and dried Harry off.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “Anyways, did you get everything you needed, Tom?”

“Yeah,” said Tom, accepting the change in subject. “Speaking of, I have something for you.”

He picked up the gift from where it was lying on the sofa next to him. He’d retrieved it from his satchel while Harry was upstairs. Harry’s eyes widened.

“It’s a little late, but, happy birthday.” Tom gave a small, genuine smile.

There was silence.

“You’ll catch flies, Harry,” said Lily.

“Wha-,” he snapped his jaw shut. “Oh, right. Sorry. I mean, er, thank you? Yeah, thanks. I wasn’t expecting anything, really.” He ran one hand awkwardly through his messy hair while the other took the package.

Tom was nervous. Would he even want it? Harry was rolling in money – he could probably buy anything he wanted.

Lily watched silently over her cup of tea. Carefully, Harry peeled back the plain brown paper Tom had meticulously covered the gift in. He would have changed the colour if he could do it without a wand.

“Wow,” said Harry, flicking through the book. “This is brilliant!” He grinned up at Tom. “Thank you so much!”

Internally, Tom sighed with relief. It was pure luck, him coming across an old muggle couple who had decided to move and were looking to get rid of most of their things. The old man pinching Tom’s cheek had almost made him leave, but then he had only asked three pence for the leather-bound book full of hand-written Italian recipes.

“Oh, this looks good. Pumpkin gnocchi! That’ll be great when the weather turns.” Harry was still beaming as he leafed through the book. He fondly ruffled Tom’s hair before getting up. “Ooh, pesto! Think I’m going to go try this for supper tonight. Maybe with some fettuccine…”

Lily raised an eyebrow at Tom as Harry walked away, buried in the recipe book, all exhaustion apparently forgotten.

 

*****

 

The kitchen windows were wide open, allowing the lazy heat of the day to abate as an evening breeze blew in. The sparse remains of the delicious pasta Harry had cooked were sprawled across the table, everyone sipping their drinks as they talked. Tom had lemonade with mint leaves in, but he suspected the rest had something stronger. He wasn’t too disappointed by this though; he’d seen some of the older students get drunk on firewhisky and wasn’t sure he would relish the loss of control. Alcohol was something he was content to experiment with when he was alone and there was no chance someone might see him behaving… out of character.

They were five this evening; Teddy was already asleep, Morticia and Mr Malich were out on mysterious errands, but Snape had come downstairs today and brought Potter with him. Tom excused himself, needing to get his things together before he had to leave. He remembered that he had left his charms textbook at the armchair out front and went to retrieve it.

“Are you quite sure this is the right place, mother?” The voice came from the darkening street outside.

“What are we doing in Rift Alley? So plebeian…”

“Well, I told you two to stay at home.” 

Tom looked up with surprise at the familiar voice. Orion Black? Surely not. There was a knock at the door. Tom shook himself out of his surprise and moved to open the door.

“I think we've gotten the wrong–” Orion was cut off as the door opened. “Oh. Hello Tom.”

“Orion. Lucretia,” Tom nodded, and his gaze moved to the beautiful woman standing behind his housemates. Orion’s mother had delicate, doll-like features, framed by softly curling straw-blonde hair. Her eyes were a pale lavender, and surprisingly gentle.

“Lady Black.” He inclined his head respectfully. A nervous fluttering in his stomach disturbed his previously peaceful mood. Why were the Blacks here?

“You must be Mr Riddle,” Lady Black said. “I’m looking for a man by the name of Hadrian Evans. May we come in?”

“Of course,” said Tom, stepping back to allow them entrance. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. Mr Evans is in the kitchen. Allow me to retrieve him for you.”

The Blacks wanting to see Harry? Was this about Harry being frosty with them earlier? Did they not like having Teddy make a claim to the Black name? He sincerely hoped things wouldn’t get ugly. The last thing he wanted was conflict between his (rather wealthy and influential) housemates and the Evans.

Harry and the rest were still at the kitchen table, conversing loudly. Potter had Harry’s right arm held up to the light, inspecting the tattoo there.

“My mother would _murder_ me if I ever so much as thought about-”, he cut himself off. “Oh, what happened here?” He asked, pointing at the galleon-sized scar near Harry’s elbow.

“Sword fight with a basilisk,” Harry said with a rather devious grin, to which Snape cuffed him over the head without even looking up from his conversation with Lily.

“Well, you certainly are inventive,” said a voice from behind Tom. They all looked up to see Lucretia standing in the kitchen doorway, her brother and mother just behind her.

“Lucretia Black,” said Potter. “What are you doing here?”

“Fleamont Potter,” said Lucretia, her face carefully blank. “I could ask you the same.”

Harry looked at Tom askance.

“Lady Black would like to speak with Mr Evans,” he said.

Harry quickly stood up and made his way over to Lady Black.

“Lady Black,” he greeted, though lacking his usual charming smile. “I’m Hadrian Evans. Please, come through to our sitting room, I’m sure you will be much more comfortable there.”

“No need,” said Lady Black, smiling ruefully, but making no mention of Harry’s rather unkempt appearance.  She made her way to the kitchen table and sat down with effortless grace. “I'm a proud Hufflepuff and have fond memories of the Hogwarts kitchens. This will do.”

“Mother-”

“Hush, Orion. You’re too much like your father at times.”

Orion remained silent, though he did not look happy about the situation.

“Let me get you some tea,” said Harry, offering her a tentative smile, which she returned with a nod. Lucretia came forward and took a seat next to her mother, while Orion continued to hover uncomfortably near the kitchen door.

“Fleamont Potter,” said Lady Black, giving him a nod in greeting. “How is your dear mother doing?”

“She is well, thank you, Lady Black,” said Potter, slipping so effortlessly from his usual unaffected attitude into pureblood formality, Tom was thrown. He had straightened in his seat, chin up, posture perfect, and expression carefully neutral.

“Oh, and does she know about your bastard brother?” Tom heard Orion mutter behind him. Evidently, he was not quiet enough, since his mother turned to him with a sharp look.

“Oh, I doubt very much that that is the case, child. No man in his right mind would dare cross Aliyah Shafiq like that. Or your cousin Dorea, for that matter.”

Harry gave a wry smile as he set down a tray of tea and fresh scones, cream, and berries in front of Lady Black.

“Don't worry, he’s not the first, nor will he be the last to make that assumption. Let me just reassure you that my parents were happily married when they had me,” said Harry.

“I must say, Fleamont, the more I hear about your mother, the more inclined I am to meet her,” said Lily. She turned to the Blacks. “Hello. Lily Evans. It’s a pleasure to meet you and your children, Lady Black. This is Severus Snape.” Snape gave a firm nod.

“Nevertheless, you have my apologies, Mr Evans, Mr Potter.”

“My apologies as well, I should not have assumed,” said Orion. “Or made such a crass comment,” he added, at a look from his mother.  He moved to sit on his mother's other side. Harry took the seat opposite them, next to Potter, while Tom leaned uncertainly against the wall.

“To what do I owe this visit, Lady Black?” said Harry.

Lady Black savoured her tea before responding.

“My children had some interesting things to say upon their return from Diagon Alley today.” Tom internally groaned. So, this _was_ going in that direction then.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“Mr Evans, are you aware of the situation in Europe at the moment?”

“Are you referring to the muggle war, or the wizarding one?”

“I’m not so sure they aren’t one and the same,” she sipped her tea. “Nevertheless, the Dark Lord Grindelwald is not the only one with nefarious intentions that would love to get a hold of an impressionable young metamorphmagus, especially one with Black blood. Your godson being a half-blood will not hinder people from trying to get their hands on him.”

“You seem very informed on what nefarious wizards would want, Lady Black,” said Potter with a small huff.

“Well,” she said, setting down her cup. “I may have been a naïve Hufflepuff during my school days, but I’ve spent the last eighteen years married to Arcturus Black. I am anything but uninformed, Mr Potter.”

Harry sighed, rubbing his face tiredly.

“Thank you for your warning, Lady Black. You must understand the difficulty, though. Teddy doesn’t have control of his morphing ability yet; he does it subconsciously. And it will be a nightmare trying to keep that wild bundle of energy confined to our private rooms upstairs for the next few years. We won’t always be able to get around him going outside.”

“How many people are aware of his ability?” said Lady Black.

“Aside from the people in this room, only our closest friends, and Isabelle Potter.”

“And how many know of his Black blood?”

“You’re looking at them.”

“Good,” said Lady Black, somehow taking a bite of her scone without smudging any cream anywhere. “I’ve asked my children not to mention this to anyone, including their father. As for your godson morphing uncontrollably,” she nodded once to Lucretia, who removed a small black box from her robe pocket and handed it over to Harry. He opened it, raised a brow at the contents, and passed the box to Snape.

“I took the liberty of retrieving it from the family vaults. It will suppress your godson’s ability to morph, so long as he wears it.”

Snape levitated a small metal talisman from the box, and without touching it, began a rapid succession of silent spells. The talisman glowed various colours until, seeming satisfied, he looked up and nodded once to Harry.

“How much do you want for it?” said Harry.

“A gift,” said Lady Black, with a small smile.

“I would prefer to pay. I am not short on gold, Lady Black.”

“Neither am I,” said Lady Black with an air of finality, rising elegantly from her seat. “Thank you for the tea, Mr Evans. It was rather delicious. Come, children, we must be going. Will you see us to the door, Mr Riddle?”

Tom moved quickly to comply. By the time he had seen the Blacks off, the others were in deep discussion.

“- mum seems to like her, or at least respect her,” Potter was saying. “She’s right about keeping Teddy’s ability quiet, though. I’ve heard enough stories from aunt Dorea about Arcturus and some of the other Blacks.”

“What do you think, Sev?”

“There are no curses on the necklace, and it seems its only magic is to supress blood abilities through direct contact with the skin,” said Snape. “As for Melania Macmillan, all I know is that she was spoken of fondly by a few of the less… megalomaniacal Blacks.”

Potter and Harry both let out identical snorts at that. They caught each other’s eyes, and then gave identical grins before dissolving into laughter. _Really_ , thought Tom, _a fool could see they are related_.

Realising how late it was getting, Tom went to get his things. He went to say his goodbyes, but Lily pulled him aside.

“Do you remember my friend from this morning? Her name is Alanna,” said Lily, handing him a slip of parchment. “She’s a witch that lives in muggle London, near to Wool’s. This is her address. If you ever get into trouble and can’t reach us, go to her for help. I’ve cleared it all with her already.”

“Thank you,” said Tom, not all that eager to go to a strange witch for help. Lily must have seen it on his face.

“It’s only for emergencies, Tom. You never know if you might need it.”

“Alright,” he said. “Thank you. I’ll keep it in mind.”

 

*****

“The muggles are all set to launch their attack, my Lord.”

Gellert ran the Elder wand through his calloused fingers, tracing its form as he thought. The coming attack would be big enough for him to slip into London, unnoticed. And Albus would have his hands full as well; Hogwarts was due to reopen within the week.

He couldn’t help feeling a pang of disappointment at the way things had unfolded. For a while, he had rejoiced in finally having the Elder Wand, most powerful of all the Hallows, in his grasp. Only to feel… underwhelmed. There was no other word for it, really. The wand was powerful, certainly more so than his old wand. But he had been expecting _more_. The Death Stick did not seem to live up to its fame. Gellert could only conclude that to unlock its true power, he had to unite all three of the Hallows. He hadn’t planned on pursuing the rest so soon; not until he had gained a proper foothold across Europe. But alas, it seemed it would not wait.

He needed access to the British ministry’s records. He remembered, from his research with Albus, that the descendants of the Peverells most likely still lived there. There was also the book. The ministry would surely have a copy. If he played his cards right, he could shoot two owls with one curse.

“Christophe” he said. The man immediately came forward. “Reach out to your contacts in the British ministry. I want you to find out if they have _The Rites of AshkEnte_ in their archives.”

“Yes, my Lord.” The man disapparated with a crack, leaving Gellert alone to contemplate his next move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, looks like a wild Grindy appeared.  
> And what about the Blacks? Can Melania Black be trusted? Is Orion too much like his father? Is Teddy now safe from Big Bad Wizards?  
> Find out on the next episode of Dragon Ball Z!!!!!!!!
> 
> (Or not)
> 
> Next chapter will either be "September First" or "When Harry Met ~~Sally~~ Tish".  
> I haven't decided which one to post first, so I guess it will be a surprise.

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments/feedback would be appreciated :D


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